


Conspiracy Theory

by orphan_account



Series: Conspiracy Theory [1]
Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Bisexual Character, Blowjobs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time, Frottage, Homophobic Language, M/M, Making Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-09-26
Packaged: 2018-02-05 11:25:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1816858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein the conspiracy is real, and could cost Chris everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"You're drunk," Zach mutters into his throat, but Chris isn't really—not enough that he doesn't know this is a really bad idea, anyway. He also doesn't care.

"Not that drunk," he assures him, mumbled into Zach's ear, which tastes a little like that disgusting adhesive they use to attach his Spock ears. How Chris knows what it tastes like, that's not really important. Not when Zach's dick is pressing into his thigh. He pushes into it, away from the wall and Zach groans.

"You're straight," is his next protest, and it's a shaky one at that.

"Only according to Paramount," Chris says under his breath. Zach stops sucking at his carotid.

"What?"

"Nothing," Chris says quickly, tugs Zach in, shifting so their erections grind together this time.

"Oh fuck." Zach's fingers tighten at Chris' hips. "You sure about this?" he demands hoarsely, and fuck if Chris has ever wanted anything more.

"Yeah," he breathes. "Yes. Please." Doesn't matter that he's not supposed to do this. Or that it can only ever be a one time thing, and possibly that Zach is going to be pissed when he realises it. But then, Zach probably won't mind, probably doesn't want him anyway.

Which should not be a painful thought. Chris pushes it away, focuses on Zach's lips, tilts his chin up a little more to meet them, lets him in; happy to do anything he wants right now.

The space is too small to do much of anything. A bathroom of all places, and Chris doesn't even know why he followed Zach in here. It just seemed like a perfectly reasonable thing to do—follow his very male, very out co-star into a bathroom built for one. Maybe he is a little drunk.

He'll worry about it later. When Zach isn't unzipping his pants, and pushing a hand down his briefs. Yeah, later is good. "Good," he says out loud, although he thinks he doesn't mean to. "Perfect…"

Zach chuckles, the sound vibrating Chris' lips, and that's good too. His fist squeezes and Chris gasps, bucks up to find more friction. Which Zach helpfully supplies and Chris remembers there's another dick here too, a big one from the feel of things. And no one ever complains about Chris' generosity in the bedroom—bathroom, wherever.

He fumbles with Zach's zipper and gets an encouraging nip at his bottom lip in response. Biting. Yes, good. Very much. He whimpers in response and is nipped again. His jaw this time and if Chris is panting, well. It's not his fault.

He finally manages to slide his fingers inside Zach's briefs, moans when he finds what he's looking for, and is a little embarrassed by it. Because it's just a dick, right? It's not like he's never done this before, but he also doesn't usually get to touch ones he's fantasized about for years.

He's only ever fantasized about one dick for years. This one, in his hand, hot and heavy, wet at the tip. He moans again and his own dick throbs in response. Zach squeezes again, fondles his balls and that's almost too much. "Fuck me?" he pants, even as he squirms and tries to encourage those long fingers inside. Bit hard like this, not a great angle.

"Absolutely," Zach purrs. He really does, grin pressed to the corner of Chris' lips. "Not here, but yeah."

"Not…" Chris' complaint is cut off, forced into stuttering appreciation as his own pre-come is collected with Zach's thumb.

"Come for me here first." He's panting too, jacking himself in Chris' fist. It's not a question, so Chris complies, moving his hips in time with Zach's. Their mouths are together, but they're not kissing, not anymore, instead panting, Zach licking at him and then teeth brush Chris' jaw, bite gently and he's coming hard. Zach moans, pushes him roughly into the wall so that the edge of a picture frame digs into his shoulder blade and then he's shooting too. Chris tries to catch what he can, the rest spurting in hot ribbons across his stomach.

More panting, both of them grinning but Chris comes down faster, smile faltering even as Zach nuzzles into his cheek, nose buried in the hair above his ear. He hadn't pegged him for a cuddler, hadn't considered affection when he imagined this.

Or the soft laughter, because Zach sounds delighted, and Chris realises then that he's miscalculated. He's not nearly drunk enough for this.

\---

"Come on," Zach says, still grinning now that they're both relatively clean and tucked away. He tugs Chris to the door, and Chris goes but he has to explain, say something. Because they can't just go back into the club and be… together? Zach can't want them to be together. It was a shared wank, a bit of kissing, and doesn't Zach… he can't actually want anything more than that.

Except Zach is pulling at him, looks like a besotted idiot, actually. And it makes Chris' insides do things they should not be doing. Squirming, jumping for joy and plunging so quickly into despair that it honestly makes him dizzy.

"Zach, I—"

But Zach cuts him off, pushes him against the door before they've even made it there. "Oh my god." Kisses him soundly, framing his face and Chris forgets why he has to stop this. "You absolute fucker," Zach laughs, kissing again, but softly. "You were supposed to be straight."

Chris laughs too, but it's forced and hollow. Zach doesn't seem to notice. He's too busy making sure Chris has no air.

He is supposed to be straight. He's contracted to be straight, for god's sake and he can't do this. Walk out into a club, even a dark club, where their friends are waiting for them, hand in hand with a man. A gay man. His gay co-star. That's on the absolute no-go list, in fact. And so this has to stop now.

But Zach is kissing him and Chris is kissing him back, because he can't not. He's wanted this for years, an ache that lives in his bones, kept secret and quiet from everyone else. Especially from the powers that are perfectly capable of crushing him and everything he's worked so hard for.

He pulls away just enough to get Zach's name out, but it isn't enough to derail the dizzy delight on his face. And god, if his smile doesn't make Chris weak at the knees. Like a princess in a fucking fairy tale. It always does, and it's what started all of this. That and Zach's damn glasses. "I'm pretty sure they've been taking bets." Still grinning, and Chris only nods, barely registering anything beyond the buzz in his head and the warmth of Zach's palm against his own.

It isn't until they're winding their way through the smoky club that Chris' brain kicks on again. It's too late though. They're parked in front of the table where the rest of the cast is waiting. Zach finally lets go of his hand to dig for his wallet. He comes up with a few bills and tosses them on the table. "We're going," he explains, as if they weren't just rutting in the bathroom. "Early call, so don't stay up too late."

"Yes, mother," John says dutifully. Grinning, Zach flips him off, takes up Chris' hand again, paying no mind to the surprise and speculative looks, and pulls him toward the door.

Chris' face is still flaming as he stumbles out into the chilly air. A cab is easy to find, and even when they're inside, Zach doesn't let him go. And since the driver probably isn't a secret pap, Chris doesn't pull away. Zach's thumb is making circles over his knuckles.

Chris lets him do it. Because they can't have this conversation in the back of a cab. Sorry, Zach, forgot to mention that I am contractually obligated to not be gay. Both halves of the same coin cannot be gay, you see. One half has to be a rugged, manly man who only enjoys the company of busty, blonde women. Otherwise fans might revolt, the franchise will crumble and subsequently the world will end.

At least that's the way Paramount feels.

_Bromance is the key, Chris. Bromance,_ they said. _Play it up. Best friends, buddies, a wink and a nudge. But that's where it ends, you got me?_

_Nobody wants Star Trek helmed by a bunch of faggots. One is bad enough._

And that's what hurt the most.

Chris risks a glance at Zach. He's got his head against the seat, eyes closed. Smile curling the edges of his lips. Chris' chest hurts as he watches though, and he has to look away, concentrate on the motions of Zach's thumb, the softness of his skin. Just a few more minutes and they'll be at Zach's place, and Chris will explain.

It'll be fine. They'll be fine.

That's not what happens, of course. They're inside too quickly, Zach foregoing his usual worship the animals ritual, giving the dog only a cursory hello, and then nudging him into the laundry room. Harold ignores them, like he always does, which gives Chris no time to enact his plan. Zach is kissing him, tugging at Chris' jacket and walking them down the hall, maneuvering them with the sort of ease that makes Chris wonder just how many times he's done this.

It's ridiculous that he immediately banishes the thought. Irrational that he doesn't want to think about all the other men who have touched Zach this way, who have stumbled over the threshold of his room, only to be caught by the waist and laughed at, grinned at as they were pushed onto the bed.

Zach spends only a moment shucking off his own shirt before he's on hands and knees, crawling over Chris, backing him up and pushing fingers in his hair to hold him there. Chris gives in, doesn't fight it, lets Zach manhandle him. It's not that he never lets guys top him, it's just that it's never so easy. Never exactly what he wants.

He's pretty sure though that he'd be willing to do this for the rest of his life.

Especially if Zach is always this happy about it. But he can't think like that. He should really push him away, stop this from going any further. Just one more time. Once more, and then he'll explain.

Because Zach has to understand. He's only been out for a few years, so he's no stranger to homophobia. He'll understand.

Chris lets himself believe it, gives himself to Zach's demands for more kisses, for more skin, readily accepts the fingers as they invade, the wet heat of Zach's tongue on his dick. Begs for more once Zach is inside him, grips his ass to get more. Pleads for Zach to fuck him harder. He can't look away.

Not when Zach grips Chris' ankles to bend him in half, face awash in concentration, in pleasure, his dark eyes bright and hungry. Chris wants more, pushes up into until he can't anymore, until he's limp and spent, and fucked out of his mind.

And Zach's heavy on top of him now, finally lets Chris move his legs. He's cramped and sore and it's better than anything. "God, you're amazing," Zach mumbles through the kisses pressed into his chest, over the marks he's made with his teeth, marks Chris wants to remember forever. A reminder he'll take with him now that it's over.

\---

Early call is a bastard, unpleasant and entirely unnecessary. Chris tries to convey all of that to his pillow when his cheek is kissed. By Zach. Because of course none of that was a dream, he's actually in his friend's bed, his muscles sore in the way that means sex definitely happened.

His publicist is going to kill him.

If she finds out. Which she can't.

"Fuck," he mutters, pushing himself up to crack a look at Zach. His smile is soft, his hair ridiculous. He's got his cheek smooshed into the pillow, one hand beneath, while the other plays with the blanket very much not covering Chris' ass. It's Zach, the morning after version. Chris wants to roll on top of him, or at least scoot across the gulf of sheets. He stays where he is instead, and absolutely does not imagine what it might be like to wake up like this every morning.

"Hey," Zach says, his voice still rough with sleep. His fingers inch across the space, and Chris swallows. Zach's all teeth then, grinning as he slides closer and runs his fingertips down Chris' back, over the swell of his ass. "Wasn't sure you wouldn't regret this."

Chris shakes his head. He doesn't, not at all. And if it was up to him…

Zach is hovering now, drawing patterns against his skin that Chris just wants to memorise. But, he's let it go far enough. "Zach…" He's too hoarse, and it's too early. The sun isn't even up yet.

"Yeah?" Trailing fingers make it difficult to focus.

He's only looking at Zach out of the corner of one eye, which should make this a whole lot simpler. "Look, can I..." Zach's fingers pause. "No, just… just gonna sit up." He doesn't even know what he's saying, really. It's just a mass of jumbled words. And Zach is frowning now, which _shit_.

Feeling awful, Chris sits up, drags the sheets with him to pile in his lap. Zach is sitting up too, although he's not trying to hide anything. His lips twist; his eyes are amused. "Time to freak out?"

"No." Chris scrubs a hand over his chin, wincing when he presses a tender spot. Zach's frown deepens. He leans forward and brushes his fingers gently over the spot, while Chris' brain stops cooperating.

"Makeup's not going to be happy. Sorry..."

"No, it's fine," Chris says stupidly. "Look…" Zach's fingers fall away.

"It's fine," he says, all the warmth drained from his voice; his eyes as well. "I knew you would do this. Let's just forget it, okay?"

He's off the bed before Chris can reply, wriggling into the jeans he wore last night.

"Zach, wait."

"Hey, it's fine," Zach say airily, tossing it over his shoulder like that's at all convincing. "Just grabbing a shower. We can ride over to the studio together. Or you can grab a cab. Whatever. The other shower's yours. Clothes in the guest room."

The door closes firmly behind him, but Chris doesn't get up. He stares at his hands and hates himself a little. If he wasn't such an asshole, he would probably follow him into the bathroom.

But that's something Chris has never done, a front row seat to Zach showering. He's slept over here a million times, even has a toothbrush in the other bathroom. They've collapsed in the same hotel bed more than once, exhausted after a full day of promoting—or too much drinking.

They've been friends for a long time. And if that's fucked up now…

Chris doesn't want to think about it.

So, he forces his jelly legs to move, gathers up his clothes one at a time, and makes his way to the shower down the hall in his own jeans. Noah greets him with lazy licks for his ankles. He's not in the laundry room, which means Zach got up at some point.

And came back to bed. Back to _Chris_ in his bed.

And for some reason, that makes everything worse.

Sighing, he scritches Noah behind an ear, pats his flank. "I really fucked up," he says, and gets nuzzled with a cold nose.

At least Zach's dog won't hate him. And isn't that a weird thought. He doesn't want Zach's dog to hate him. Because if your dog likes someone, they must be good people. Isn't that the code of a dog person? Chris hopes so.

He showers quickly, absolutely does not linger over the bruises on his chest and then without bothering to dry off, he pulls on sweats and that stupid henley he left last time he crashed here.

It sticks to him in sodden patches.

No complaints though, because Zach is still in the shower. And since Chris wants to be less of an asshole, he waits in the living room. Like a civilised person. After feeding both Noah and Harold, because Zach's kids are the way to his heart. And not reminding Zach that they are, in fact, not kids, will just be another point in his favor.

Noah's lounging on one of his bare feet when Zach comes out, wrapped in a towel, and still dripping. He halts just inside the living room, his surprise bordering on comical. Except nothing about this is funny. "Oh," he says, and it's not surprising that his vocabulary is not up to its usual standards. "You didn't get a cab."

"Um, no." Chris tries to smile, fails spectacularly. "I'll leave in a minute if you want me to—"

"Don't worry about it." Zach says it with a shrug, and god he's terrible at this. At feigning disinterest and Chris just wants to hug him. Not a great idea since he'll either be shoved away or hugged back. Both options sound devastating. "Carpooling is good for the planet."

"Yeah," Chris agrees quietly, because sure. Carpooling. Why the fuck not. Whatever it takes to keep Zach from tossing him out. "Okay, so I just have to tell you—"

" _No_."

Chris squints up at him, surprised into silence. And for the first time Zach looks pissed.

"We're not doing this, Pine," he says firmly, his eyebrows drawn together and acutely threatening. "I fucked you, we both enjoyed it. Or at least, we both _seemed_ to enjoy it, and now we can just pretend it never happened. We have five more months of shooting, and an eternity of publicity to get through and we don't need to sit here and have a heart to heart about my dick."

Chris swallows, but doesn't look away. He's never seen Zach this angry. Which is why the next words come out of his mouth so easily, "I just need to explain."

"Well, I don't want you to explain." He crosses his arms and Chris wonders if he's always this stubborn. Or maybe it's brought on by rejection. Not a pleasant thought. "You should probably get a cab."

"Just let me explain," Chris begs, flailing a little, but he's too desperate to care. His heart is beating too fast. "I did enjoy it. It was amazing—"

"What is _wrong_ with you, Chris?"

"What? Nothing. I—"

"Why are you making a thing about this?" Zach demands. "I knew this was the likely outcome—"

"No, you didn't," Chris protests.

"You're straight, I get it. Maybe a little curious, which by the way, that was really shitty of you. You should have just said—"

"That's not what this is about—"

"Oh really?"

"Oh wait, you're right. It _is_ ," Chris says and it's sarcasm that comes out. "I've never had a dick up my ass before last night, so I thought hey, that sounds like fun, why don't I just grope my best friend in the bathroom and give it a go? Because that sounds exactly like something I would do. Fuck up our friendship for an _experiment_."

He immediately regrets his harsh tone, and fully expects Zach to tell him to get out. Instead, he sags. Visibly, his shoulders slumping and a deep sigh pushing out of his chest. He shakes his head, rakes a hand through his damp hair. "Okay," he says heavily. "You wouldn't do that, you're right." He drops into the other chair. "So what is this about?"

Zach's legs are spread wide and the terrycloth is falling open just enough that Chris has to drag his eyes back to his face. Zach doesn't look amused. Chris flushes. "You're going to be pissed so just let me get it all out, okay?"

"I'm already pissed," Zach says evenly.

Chris sighs, runs his hand over his thigh, remembering too late that he's actually wearing Zach's sweats, but mostly because Zach's watching the movement. He shakes his head a little, lifts his eyes. "Chris."

"Right." Problem is he doesn't know how to begin.

"We have exactly twenty minutes before we're late."

And then J.J. will spend the entire day in a snit. Good motivation right there. "I signed an agreement," Chris tests the words out. They sound incredibly stupid. Which, judging by Zach's expression, is an opinion he shares. "With Paramount. They uh, sort of worked it out. Well, okay, they heard a rumor—"

"Pine, what the hell are you talking about?" It's not anger this time. Simple confusion.

"Uh… I'm not straight, okay? I'm not entirely gay, because I have enjoyed the company of women, more so now because I signed a contract that said I wouldn't get involved in any indiscretions…" He trails off because Zach is gaping at him.

"Seriously, Pine? This is what you're going with? The Chris is straight conspiracy?"

"I'm going with it because it's true," Chris says irritably. "And stop calling me Pine, will you? This is not me claiming brojob status, okay? I signed a fucking contract to appear straight for the duration of Trek, and I know it was shitty of me not to tell you, but can you not accuse me of lying about this? Because it sucks."

He's being petulant, childish, so he smoothes out his expression, but Zach's still just staring at him. "Look, I'm sorry," he tries again, but Zach shakes his head, and Chris can't tell if he's angry or amazed.

"You're serious," he finally mutters. "You're actually serious."

"Um, yeah." It sounds like a question, which might be why Zach closes his eyes and slumps into his seat.

"Why would you agree to that? Why in _hell_ would you agree to that, Chris?"

"I didn't have a choice—"

Zach jerks up, eyes popping open, and it's enough that Noah startles. "You always have a choice about this. They can't just order you not to be gay."

"I'm bi," Chris murmurs, but Zach waves that away, although as far as Chris is concerned, it's an important distinction. "Maybe pansexual, I haven't settled on one or the other yet."

And that stops Zach. He opens his mouth, closes it again. "You're right, that was me being an asshole. I'm sorry."

Chris shrugs. "It's fine. It's not important right now, anyway—"

"Of course it's important. Which is why this isn't okay. I can't believe your publicist let them do this."

"It was her idea."

Impossibly, Zach looks even more flummoxed. "What? Why would she?"

"Why?" Chris laughs. "You're seriously asking me that? Zach, come on, they didn't want—" But he shakes his head. Can't say the rest. _They wanted at least one of their leads to be the all-American, skirt-chasing, hetero male._

Zach hears it anyway, or maybe he just knows Chris that well. "Because I came out first."

"Well, you were smarter than I was." He says it with a smile and doesn't expect the indignant eyebrows.

"So this is _my_ fault?"

"What? _No_. No, that's not what I meant." He can see that Zach wants to disregard that too, but he visibly reins in his protest.

His tone is perfectly equitable when he says, "They can't hold you to this."

It's Chris' turn to slump. "Zach—"

"They can't. What are they going to do, haul you into court and insist that you're too gay to be captain of the Enterprise?"

"Breach of contract," Chris recites. "Failure to comply with reasonable demands. They do this shit with everything. Don't cut your hair, don't get drunk in public—"

"Don't fuck other men is not even remotely in the same league—"

"I know that," Chris cuts off his splutter. "Look, I know you're passionate about this kind of thing, but—"

"You think that's what this is about?" Zach leans forward in his chair, and Noah whines with interest, lumbering up and wandering toward him. Zach's fingers thread through his fur, but he hasn't lost the intense look. "Activism?"

"Well…" Chris shifts, stretches out his fingers in something like a shrug.

"I've been wishing for years that you weren't straight—"

"Years?"

Zach ignores him. "—and now you tell me that it doesn't matter that you're not straight, because you're still not available. I asked you last night if you were sure—"

"And I said yes," Chris finishes quietly, remorse going off like a blaze in his chest. "I know and I'm sorry—"

"Because that helps," Zach retorts. "How am I not supposed to feel like you were dicking me around?"

And that's fair. So fair that Chris isn't going to argue. Looking defeated, Zach gathers a fistful of hair and then runs a rough hand through it, standing a second later. "I need to get dressed."

Chris nods, already on his feet. "I'll get a cab."

"Chris." Zach's sigh stops him, he's half-turned around, looking torn. "You don't have to…"

Chris smiles, pulls his pile of dirty clothes to his chest. "It's fine. I'll see you on set. And look, I know it doesn't help, but I really am sorry." He leaves then, not wanting to let further words betray him.

\---

The day is long and awful, helped along by everyone's obvious interest in their avoidance of one another. Not that Chris is avoiding Zach. Obviously. They can't exactly avoid when they're in the same scenes.

Zach looks like he wants to say something at least four times in between takes, but Chris doesn't want to belabor this. He knows he was a jerk, he knows it was stupid and thoughtless, playing around with Zach's feelings.

It fucking hurts that he can't do what he wants. But none of this is Zach's problem, even if there's a tiny part—a large, gaping cavern—of Chris that wishes it were.

So he mostly ignores it like he always does, is completely professional, jokes around with the rest of the cast when something's funny and doesn't look at Zach any more than is absolutely necessary.

By the time J.J. lets them go, he's exhausted.

He bypasses Zoe's questions, promising later, even though he doesn't mean it. He also begs off a few rounds at the bar where they usually flock after a long day. "Family stuff tomorrow." It's not even a lie.

"You sure you're all right?" Zoe asks, rubbing at his arm like she's trying to placate. He smiles at her, reassuring with his face because he's good at that. She reads right through it, of course. And knows him well enough not to press. She just kisses his cheek, shoots a glance at Zach, still sitting in the makeup chair while his ears are peeled off, before she leaves with Anton glued to her side.

Chris turns away, flips a wave to Karl as he passes and makes it to his trailer in record time.

He's got the henley on again, Kirk shirt discarded for the next twenty-four hours, and thank god for that. He needs a shower though, and definitely needs to get out of Zach's sweats.

Hot water usually makes everything better. Not today. But he stands under the spray, determined. By the time he towels off, his muscles are in a better state at least. And he doesn't smell like an old gym sock.

He runs a quick hand through his hair, but has to turn away from the mirror when he sees the small bruises rounding the edge of his jaw. The makeup people had been resigned instead of annoyed. Just more fuel for the rumour mill. The good rumours, as far as Paramount is concerned, anyway.

Making a face that nobody can see, Chris shrugs into one of his oldest hoodies and a pair of jeans. Perfect for being alone.

The universe apparently has other plans. He stops short as soon as he leaves the bathroom. Zach is sitting at the table, staring at the brushed metal surface. He lifts his head at the sound of the door, and immediately stands.

His hands are up, palms out as though raising the white flag, but it's his expression that gouges. Eyes wide and mouth twisted with regret. "I'm an asshole," he announces.

He approaches slowly, but Chris isn't going anywhere. He's mostly confused, and just a tiny bit hopeful, which he viciously squashes. He blinks as his arms are gripped lightly, Zach's thumbs brushing up and down. Almost exactly like Zoe's attempt to comfort, but this one is much more welcome.

Chris finds his voice with effort, "Zach, it's fine—"

"No, seriously, I'm a selfish asshole."

"Um, I think you're forgetting that I tricked you into having sex with me."

Zach's grimace turns to momentary surprise, and then he snorts. "You didn't trick me, you idiot."

"Because you totally would have fucked me if I told you upfront that it was a one-time thing?"

Zach purses his lips, lets his hands fall. "No," he says and it's too honest. Chris turns away, to rummage through the fridge because it's there. "We're friends, Chris—"

"I know." Chris reappears with a bottle of water, nods while it sears a trail of ice down his throat. He clips the door with the side of his foot, satisfied when it thumps loudly. "It was stupid, and I wasn't nearly drunk enough not to realise it. Honestly, man," he adds with a tight smile as he twists the cap, "you have every right to be pissed."

"Maybe," Zach agrees, but it's quiet, without conviction. Chris nods anyway, decisive enough for both of them. He skirts around Zach, because he's just standing there, drops onto the sofa and squints up at his friend.

"So, we're good, then?" It's more hope, but this time he doesn't work to kill it. They've got a lot of time to burn together, too much to spend working on their avoidance techniques.

But Zach shakes his head, and just as Chris' stomach drops, he mutters, "How can you be okay with this?"

"Pretending to be straight?" Chris asks, just to buy time. Zach gives him an exasperated look and sinks next to him on the couch. Their thighs brush, and Chris has to stop himself from shifting away. "It doesn't matter, does it? There's nothing I can do about it."

"But don't you want to…" Zach shakes his head, tries again. "All right, look, I don't have a lot of leeway here, since I've only been out for a few years, but Chris, it's so much better. So much easier, not having to hide, and there are so many people who would see you and—"

"I'm not a role model, okay?" He ends up shifting a little bit, just enough to lose the feeling of claustrophobia. "I can't be. I'm just trying to survive here, okay?"

Zach touches his thigh, and Chris flinches. A pause, but Zach doesn't pull away. "All right," he says quietly. "I get it. It's okay. You have to take it in your own time. I didn't mean to push."

"My own time?" Chris chokes out a laugh and jerks to his feet. "Fuck, you think that's what this is? I'm not scared, Zach. Jesus, I would actually sign up for one of those inane twitter things just to announce it if I could. I don't want to hide. It fucking sucks."

He has to take a breath, a ragged one that doesn't satisfy his need for air. There are so many things Zach could say to that, but it's probably best that he murmurs, "Twitter's not inane…"

"It's the epitome of inane," Chris retorts, and he laughs a little bit, because what else is he supposed to do? He pushes his damp hair off his forehead, tries to clear his head, but it's impossible. "Actual dictionary definition."

Zach smiles. "And you, the English major…"

"Can't always be on point," Chris says with a shrug. "So… yeah, I know you're right. I shouldn't have agreed to it, but I didn't think it would be this hard."

"But don't you…" Zach flaps a hand. It's so rare to see him inarticulate, that it's almost funny. Until he fills in the blanks. "Didn't you think you might eventually want to date a guy?"

If you count Zach himself, then absolutely. Chris can't say that, of course. "Well, it's not forever."

"Chris, you're pacing."

Chris stops, turns to look at him, at his stupid striped shirt and jeans that look like they've been painted on. "Sorry." Because apologies cure all things.

"Can you just…" Zach gestures again, and seriously, Chris has never seen him so jumpy. It's really not very funny. "Just sit? Please?"

Chris perches on the arm of the couch, far enough away that accidental touching won't be an issue. He folds his hands in his lap, expectant.

"Maybe if you hire someone," Zach starts.

"What, like a lawyer?" Skeptical at best, half-appalled at worse. He doesn't want anyone else to know about this.

"Exactly like a lawyer, and maybe a new publicist while you're at it."

"Someone else would just say the same thing."

"You don't know that."

"What did yours say when you told him you were going to come out?" Chris asks, and hell if his tone isn't perfectly reasonable.

So is Zach's. "He told me not to. He told me my career would take a different course, and he was right."

Or maybe he's just self-righteous. Chris tries not to let that opinion show on his face. "Well, I don't have that option right now, so." He shrugs. "I appreciate that you want to help, but—"

"Are you always this thick? Seriously, how did you get your reputation as a suave ladies' man?"

"My publicist knows her job."

Zach groans and sinks back into the cushion. Ever the drama queen. Chris smiles before he can stop himself, and when Zach catches his eye, his face transforms slowly with his own grin. It's one of those moments that Chris wants to hold onto, horde greedily for himself.

Zach stops smiling. "Chris…"

"Yeah, I know, it's not funny."

"Not really, no," Zach agrees, but there's no heat in the agreement. He sits forward, and for a moment Chris thinks he's going to reach out. Instead he mimics Chris' pose, hands in his lap, one knee bent. "Will you let me help?" he asks, and instinctively, Chris wants to refuse, but it's always been difficult to say no to him. "We can figure this out. If that's what you want." He spreads his hand; surrender again. "Only if it's what you want."

He's so sincere, a hopeful dork in glasses. And is it any big surprise that Chris adores him?

"They can't defend it," Zach goes on because Chris is caught staring. "What would they even say? It would be a circus—"

"Exactly," Chris says quietly. "It would be a circus, and they might lose, sure. But if they don't, I lose my contract, and does that mean they get a new Kirk? Or does everyone else lose their jobs?"

"Chris, you can't—"

"Worry about our friends? Or you? Of course I can. And what about my family? My mom already can't deal with this, no not that I'm bi," Chris cuts in quickly, to still the outrage forming on Zach's face. "They've always been supportive, but this—they hate this."

"So do I." Zach scoots forward them, folds Chris' hands up and Chris, like a trapped rabbit, lets him. "Hey," he says softly, frowning. "Are you going to freak out this time?"

"No," Chris answers quietly. He's not thick. He understands what Zach's asking, what he wants. He wants it too. Without caveats, but for Zach, it seems, they're necessary. "Do you really think we can get them to back down?"

Zach smiles. "We're the dynamic duo."

"That's Batman and Robin."

"We could be Batman and Robin."

"I can't pull off the tights."

"Have you seen your ass? Why do you think the entire crew turned out for the wetsuit scene?" Zach tugs at his shirt. "C'mere."

Chris lets Zach manhandle him into straddling his lap, lets him pull him in by his ass. "So, we're doing this?" he asks, a thread of uncertainty, a vein of hope as his eyes search Chris'.

"Yeah," Chris breathes. For as long as Chris can keep him. Until Paramount takes him away. He grips the base of Zach's neck to steady himself and leans in for a kiss.

\---

"You don't have to do this," Chris tells him while struggling with a sock the following morning. He nearly topples when Zach slaps his ass on the way past. "Hey. Trying to get dressed here."

"You're doing such a good job too," Zach compliments him in the voice he uses with his dog. He even slides around to tweak his nose.

"I'm not Noah," Chris grumbles, but he doesn't really mind. Not when Zach grins like that.

"Noah would be so offended by that tone."

Chris laughs, swats at him and gets on with the sock. He joins Zach in the bathroom a moment later, sidling in behind and perching on the edge of the tub. Zach grins sideways at him before returning his attention to the mirror.

Chris settles in to observe Zach's hour-long beautifying process, something else he's never really done. He wonders how long it will take once he's allowed to grow out his hair, and whether or not he'll be around to find out.

"You have your pensive face on."

Chris tilts his head a little to get a better view of Zach's reflection, at the scrunchy face he's making as he contemplates his eyebrows with a tweezer. "I don't have a pensive face."

"It's disturbingly sexy."

"Yeah?" Chris grins, grips the edge of the tub between his legs so he doesn't slide backward into it. It would probably kill the sexy vibe. So would a discussion about how certain he is that the studio will never let him off the hook. "I'll be sure to make it in bed."

"You already do." Frowning at his reflection, Zach flinches as he pulls out a stubborn eyebrow. "I've wanted to fuck it off your face for years."

It's still weird to hear, and not entirely pleasant, to know that he's thought about this. Wanted it.

"Pensive face again," Zach tells him.

Chris smiles, pushes up from his perch and goes to lean against the edge of the sink instead. "It's the tweezers," he teases. Zach makes a face at him, nudges him with a foot.

"I look ridiculous."

Chris shakes his head, reaches out to smooth his hair, which is sticking up in damp spikes all over his head. Zach's watching him now, his eyes softening, and it does things to Chris' insides that only a few people have ever elicited. It's entirely more terrifying now.

Zach sets the tweezer down, threads his first two fingers through Chris' belt loops and slides him along the edge of the sink and then presses him backward to kiss him for long minutes. "Hey," he says quietly, serious now as he pulls back, "if you're worried about me coming to lunch—"

"I'm not," Chris reassures him, even though it's not entirely true. "My parents already love you."

"As your friend, yeah. This is different, especially now that you're going to be out."

So confident. So naïve, is Chris' realistic view. But Zach has never had a problem with confidence as far as Chris knows. He also doesn't tend to take shit from people, and Paramount and their barracudas are probably included in that philosophy.

"If you don't want me to come, I don't have to come," Zach says, voice oddly soothing, like the thinks Chris is going to spook. Which, he might. So, kudos to him for realizing it.

"I want you to come," he says, runs encouragement up Zach's back with his palms.

"You sure?"

Chris kisses him, working to keep his pensive face in check. "Absolutely. If we're not late, that is. And since you're only about halfway through your ritual—"

Zach cinches him at the waist, cuts off the mocking with his lips. Chris stops thinking about how much it's going to suck to lose all of this, and lets himself enjoy it.

\---

"You're absolutely sure you want to do this?"

Chris makes a point of not glancing at Zach, and nods as he slices a neat triangle into his pancake. "You think it's a bad idea?"

"Not necessarily," his father says, clearly considering his answer carefully. "We're happy for you, Zach, don't misunderstand."

"No, sir, I don't," Zach says politely, and Chris does risk a quick look. He doesn't look offended. He's smiling, in fact, calm, like he always is. In direct opposition to how Chris feels.

"Robert," Chris' dad corrects with a smile. "I just want you boys to understand what you're getting into. They're not simply going to congratulate you and wave you on your way."

"A contract based on homophobia can't be defended though," Zach says. "I'm sure they'll threaten to take legal action, but they have to know they can't win."

"You don't know they can't," Katie chimes in. She's been mostly silent up until now, except for her smug smile when Chris explained why he wanted to go public. "And even if they do, the fight won't be pretty. If you think you have too many cameras following you now…"

Zach doesn't look concerned. But then he's had years to get used to it.

"If they won't let you out of the contract," Chris' mother asks worriedly, "do you intend to involve a lawyer?"

"It won't come to that," Zach says, and he obviously really believes it. Chris doesn't, not in the least but his mom clearly wants to believe it too. So he lets his mother enjoy the thought of him being seriously happy for the first time in years. It won't be long until she realizes it's impossible.

\---

"It might come to that," he says when they're back in his car, driving toward the studio for the their late call. "Paramount not caving," he explains when Zach glances over questioningly. "I don't think they'll cave."

"They will." Zach squeezes his thigh. He's cheerful, energized by their brunch, which is good. Another way they're different though. Chris is exhausted, and it was his family. "Your mom's perfect, you know that right?"

"Yeah," Chris agrees, smiling. "She's pretty great."

"Planning a wedding already, but who wouldn't? I'm a great catch."

"Think your mom will be as excited?" Chris veers them to safer subjects.

"She likes you more than she likes me," Zach laughs. "And Joe… well, he's been trying to convince me for years that you weren't straight."

"Really?" Chris taps a thumb against the steering wheel, frowning. "Why, do you think? What about me screams _not straight_?"

"You're asking the wrong person. I was convinced you were straight. Although," he says thoughtfully as his fingernails scratch over fabric, "that might have been me projecting."

"What do you mean?" Chris almost wants to shift away from his hand. It feels too comfortable, too nice.

"Because I wanted you." He's so matter of fact about it. "If I knew it wasn't a possibility, it was easier." He's frowning. Chris isn't looking at him, but he can hear it in his voice. "Actually, I can't believe I was in such deep denial."

Chris does shift now, but Zach's hand stays where it is. He's quiet then, and Chris isn't sure what to do about the guilt stuck somewhere in his ribcage. "I don't want you to think I was doing it on purpose," he eventually says. "I didn't know you… uh—" Not had feelings, because it's too soon to go there. "—were interested. And," he rushes on before Zach can interrupt, "I wasn't really trying to trick you into having sex."

"I know that, Christopher," Zach tells him quietly, but it's followed quickly with another squeeze, this one not so gentle. "Jesus."

Chris can't think of anything to say to that.

\---

"Um, I don't know," Chris says into his coffee a few hours later. It's dark and they're getting ready to shoot the scene with the Klingons. He lifts his shoulders, mostly to nudge the scarf more firmly against his neck. It's dark and it's cold. The coffee isn't really helping. "It's new, I guess?"

"You guess?" Zoe blows across the top of her disposable cup. She's wrapped in a bulky coat, but she's still shivering. "So you don't know if you and Zach are together?" She's halfway to amused, but too concerned to make it all the way.

"No, we are." He's still talking into his cup. "It's just new."

"Okay," she says, and he can tell she's eyeing him with suspicion. Or maybe she's made it to concern. "But you're happy about it, right?"

"Of course I am." He would be happy if he could be sure Zach won't vanish into thin air.

"You are what?" Zach joins them, coming to stand between them and slightly behind. He puts a hand around Chris' shoulders, rubs briskly at his arm, and Chris jolts at the contact. He doesn't look up, but his eyes dart around. No one's looking at them, though, and if they did they'd just see three friends, right? Zach's just trying to warm him up. He's probably doing the same thing to Zoe.

Except he's not.

"Hey, anyone in there?" Zach gives him a playful jostle and Chris comes back to earth; thankfully, his cup's almost empty. Zach prompts again, "Of course you are…?"

"Too cold to be here," he says with a small smile. He adjusts his scarf with one hand, rolling his shoulder to accomplish it. Zach's arm falls away, but not before he brushes the back of Chris' neck on the way down. "They almost ready?" Chris asks; Zach had been sent to check.

"Five minutes, or so I was just informed. Pretty sure it was a lie."

"Self-preservation," Chris agrees. "You look pretty scary in that."

Zach plucks the coffee from him, eyes sparkling with mischief in the moonlight. "Sexy scary?"

It's such a normal comment, something Zach would have said before sex was ever an option, but now, out here in the open, it makes Chris' heart pound. And not in a pleasant way. He smiles anyway. "Always."

"Okay, you two are officially adorable," Zoe sighs happily as she nestles the cup against her lips. Zach grins, nudges Chris' with his hip.

"Did you hear that? We're adorable."

Chris can't help smiling. At his Vulcan eyebrows and stupid bowl cut. Spock, with a huge smile on his face. He moves closer without meaning to, until their arms are pressed together. He's so incredibly fucked.

\---

"You need to find a different jogging buddy," is the irritated order against his ear the following morning. When he's still sweaty and just feet from Zach's front door.

"Um. Hey," he answers cautiously. Zach's eyebrows rise in question as he unlocks the door, but Chris just shrugs and mouths his publicist's name. "What's the problem?"

"There's a photo of the two of you jogging together."

"Oh." But he can't really see the problem. "So?"

"So," she draws out the word, with the thorough implication that his intelligence is sorely lacking, "if you want to keep this quiet, and your contract intact, you're going to need to be discreet."

Chris nearly drops the phone. His throat is suddenly too dry. "How did you…"

Her sigh is uncomfortably loud in his ear. "Do you really think no is paying attention to you? Paramount has invested a lot of—"

"Forget the money," he says impatiently. He lowers his voice when Zach narrows his eyes, not that it will somehow keep him from hearing this conversation. The door clicks shut behind them. "We haven't done anything—"

"Chris, I need to you stay calm," she interrupts, and she certainly seems to be taking the news well. "We've had contingency plans in place since the beginning."

"Contingency…"

"You were contracted to silence, Chris, not abstinence. Paramount doesn't care who you're fucking. As long as you keep it to yourself."

"Don't ask, don't tell," he mumbles, and then immediately wishes he hadn't as Zach stiffens beside him. Chris automatically grips his wrist, not sure what he hopes to accomplish, but Zach visibly settles, the tension dissipating a little from his shoulders. His frown remains though.

"Chris, you know I wish things were different," she says, and she does sound sympathetic. "If we lived in a different time, this might not be an issue."

Chris doesn't point out that's 2012, and it shouldn't be an issue. It's not her fault.

"Chris?" she prompts.

"Yeah, I'm here."

"We need to come to an agreement about strategy. Has Zach told his publicist yet?"

"Um… I don't know?" He circles his thumb over Zach's pulse. "I don't think so."

"Today, Chris. Tell him to call me, and we'll set up a meeting."

"Right, but…"

"But what?" she asks impatiently, obviously running ahead by several hours.

"Well, it's just..."

Zach encourages him with a smile, although he thinks that makes it more difficult.

"We thought it might be a good idea to see how valid the contract is," he says, forcing a confident tone.

"We?"

"Me," he corrects hastily. "If there's a way…"

"Chris—"

"I know what it might mean for my career."

"It's almost guaranteed."

His agreement gets stuck in his throat. "I know," he manages, even though it's scratchy. "It's better this way." Because it might be, right?

"Are you sure you're making this decision with your head?" she asks sardonically, but at least she doesn't sound pissed.

"Absolutely," he lies. It's not his dick he's thinking with though, despite her tone. He transfers the phone to his other ear, flashes a smile at Zach, who is beginning to look really worried. _It's fine_ , he mouths. Zach just furrows what he has left of his eyebrows. Chris grins, despite the situation, and ducks his head. "Look," he says into his phone, "if you're not in—"

"If this is what you want, Chris," she cuts him off, "and you are absolutely certain you won't regret it, then I'll do my best to give it to you. Zach's publicist won't like this either, you know."

Chris lifts his eyes, even though Zach can't hear the conversation. He' s fiddling with the hem of Chris' t-shirt, palm warm against his flank. And yeah, this is totally worth it. Maybe even for Zach too.

"I'll let you know when his publicist wants to talk," Chris says. The shorn eyebrows peak with interest.

"Tell him to call me," is the counter order. Chris agrees, and after a few more words of warning to think it through, carefully, he hangs up.

"What did she want?" Zach demands immediately. "She wants my publicist to call her?"

"She said he's not to going to like this."

"He's never thrilled when the press is involved," Zach shrugs. "What else? What was that don't ask, don't tell comment?"

"She said they don't care who I fuck as long as I'm quiet about it. I need a shower." He turns toward Zach's bedroom, and Zach follows at his heels.

"You sure she's going to go along with this?" he asks, muffled by his shirt as he wrestles it over his head. "Maybe it would be better to find someone who didn't suggest you sign the contract in the first place."

"She didn't force me to sign it," Chris says quietly.

Zach frowns. "I didn't mean to make that sound like a judgment."

Chris doesn't quite believe that, but he nods anyway; turns to adjust the water temperature. Zach comes to stand behind him, his fingertips brushing thoughtfully along Chris' bicep. "You all right?"

"Shouldn't have let you talk me into that last mile."

Zach noses into his hair. "It was good for you. And the other thing? The coming out thing?"

"That's probably good for me too." Chris steps under the spray. A second later, Zach's there, snug against his back.

"I was scared too," he says, so quietly against his ear that it's nearly lost in the water. Chris closes his eyes, concentrates on the contact, on the strength of his arms. But it's the press of lips behind his ear that holds him there.

\---

Three days later, he takes a meeting with a team of lawyers from Paramount. As well as a lawyer for Chris, provided by his dad.

It isn't going well.

"If you believed the obligation unfair, why did you sign the agreement, Mr. Pine?"

Chris has no answer to that.

"Did you believe your original contract would be invalidated if you refused to sign?"

"No," Chris answers honestly.

"In fact," the lawyer says evenly, "you were given a large sum of money in exchange for the new contract, were you not?"

Chris pulls back on his grimace. "Yes."

"Were you coerced into signing the new contract, Mr. Pine?"

He hates himself a little more with each question. "No."

"Under what grounds do you base your claim that you should not be obligated to meet the terms of your agreement with our client?"

"I didn't say I shouldn't be—"

"Then you admit there is no basis for your discontent?"

Chris opens his mouth, closes it again and finally looks over at his dad's lawyer, a hulking man named Jensen, who, for the duration, has said exactly nothing. Jensen nods a little and returns his attention to the team of old men who represent Paramount.

"Mr. Pine's concern isn't over the validity of the contract—"

"Then, Mr. Pine has no case," the snootiest of the lawyers interjects. "The contract was made in good faith, with interest to both his career and to the franchise which he helms. If he chooses to the break the terms of this contract, and our client suffers due to that action, we will be forced to take legal action."

"But it might not make any difference to the numbers," Chris begins, but then trails off under the force of the pitying looks aimed his way. "Zach—"

"Mr. Quinto's personal life can be of no interest to our client." And the way he says it, the restrained annoyance, makes it pretty clear that he wishes it could be.

"We have been advised to point out," one of the other lawyers chimes in, "that there are numerous ways in which Mr. Pine's actions might cause our client to suffer."

Chris puts a hand up to stop Jensen from speaking up. "So, basically, they can claim they're suffering over anything I do."

"Not anything, Mr. Pine," the smug fucker corrects, "only actions which violate the terms of your contract."

"So, anything gay?" Chris says through his teeth, and it only makes the trio smugger. Fuck this. "I think we're done here. In fact, you can tell your client that I'm done with all this bullshit. I'm done pretending."

"Chris," Jensen tries to interject.

"No, this will definitely appeal to you too," Chris retorts, and he has no idea why he's being nasty to him. He just feels nasty in general. "You'll make a fortune off a legal battle."

"I think we've had a miscommunication, Mr. Pine," the head lawyer interjects with a smile even nastier than Chris feels. "There will be no courtroom drama. Not unless you wish to create one."

"I…" Chris pinches his lips together, tries to process that. "What do you mean?"

"It's very simple," the lawyer folds his arms on the table. "If you choose to pursue a public relationship with a man, your contract with Paramount will be terminated immediately."

Chris' mouth falls open. "But what about the sequel—"

"Despite the fact that you play the same part, Mr. Shatner you are not. Any other blond nobody could take it. To put it simply, Mr. Pine," he adds seriously, "you are expendable."

For a suspended moment, Chris is convinced he's in his own alternate timeline.

"Have I made myself clear, Mr. Pine?"

"Yeah," he says numbly. He stares at the polished wood between his thumb and forefinger. He either comes out as bi and loses his job quietly or he comes out as bi and creates a circus. He understands perfectly.

\---

He's in his bed, cocooned in blankets, in the hours that follow. He's steadfastly ignored thirteen phone calls and five text messages. He has no idea who they're from, though if he had to hazard a guess he'd say Zach, his parents, and Katie.

He thinks about grabbing it off the nightstand and checking, but in reality, it's too much effort. And he isn't ready for whatever fucked up conversation he and Zach are going to have.

Honestly though, he's not sure to which choice Zach's vote will go. He might not mind a circus—he probably won't mind a circus. Chris, on the other hand…

He closes his eyes when the phone buzzes again. It vibrates across the slippery surface of the nightstand. Chris gives it three more before it dives over the edge.

It doesn't buzz again. And Chris is relieved for all of five seconds before he hears his front door open. He turns his face into the pillow and calculates how long it will take to convince Katie he doesn't want to talk.

"Chris?"

It's not Katie.

Chris' heart thuds unpleasantly against his ribs. He's not ready. Which is why it probably would have been better not to ignore Zach's phone calls. Because he's standing in the doorway, in his stupid black glasses and an even stupider hat.

Chris doesn't say anything, watching as Zach's face goes through confusion, concern, and then dutifully makes its way to understanding. "I guess the blanket burrito means it didn't go well?"

"If you mean they didn't offer to throw me a rainbow parade, then no," Chris sighs, turning his head so it's half squashed in the pillow, "not really."

"Your dad's lawyer…"

"Is being paid way too much."

But really, it's not his fault. Chris isn't feeling very charitable. And Zach apparently has superpowers, or at least the ability to pick a lock. Which, possibly, he should be more worried about.

"What's the endgame?" Zach asks, not venturing into the room yet.

"That's where it gets interesting." Not an accurate word at all. Zach frowns at him.

"How so?"

But Chris still isn't ready; he curls into himself a bit more. "How did you get in here?"

"You gave me your key the last time you went out of town so I could water that plant Dominique gave you."

"That plant died."

"I forgot to mention that I have a slight problem with jealousy."

Chris lifts his head enough to squint up at him. "You killed it on purpose?"

"I don't know if _killed_ is a fair assessment."

Chris doesn't want to be amused right now, belied by his smile. "You know, we were never actually dating. Not seriously."

"I'll want to know more about that later," Zach promises. He finally ventures into the room. "After we work out why you've been ignoring my calls. And your sister's." He takes a seat on the bed, knee bent up. "So. What happened?"

"You talked to my sister?"

"She called me," Zach says, and he's starting to sound impatient. "Chris."

It's really difficult not to simply roll himself back into his burrito and wait out the consequences of his own idiocy. He studies the whorls of hair on Zach's arm. "The studio has good lawyers."

"Of course they do."

He wants to unwind the individual whorls, trace them one by one. "And apparently I'm expendable. They're not going to make a fuss. They'll just terminate my contract if we go public."

"They can't do that."

"Because I'll make a fuss, right? Take them to court and create a circus, put our lives under a microscope. Give the movie press for all the wrong reasons."

Zach is quiet, his fingers curling around his own knee. Eventually, he says, "Maybe it won't be so bad."

"You know it will be."

Another stretch of silence, this time after Zach tucks his chin down. "We were never planning on making an announcement, were we?"

Chris swallows, wishes he would look up again. "You know I've never really been excited about sharing my private life with people."

"So, then…" Zach finally lifts his head. "What does it matter?" He smiles, but it's not the bone-deep happiness that he's capable of, that he's been putting on display since that night at the club. "People will speculate, but they already do that, anyway."

"That's not really what you want," Chris says quietly.

"It's not perfect, no, but—"

"Especially now that you've come out."

"I've come out," Zach trots out his patient voice. "But that doesn't mean I flaunt my relationships. I wouldn't do that even if I was straight."

Chris wonders, but he just nods. "You'd be a hypocrite though, and I know you would hate it."

"Chris." Zach purses his lips, shakes his head. "I've been dealing with this for years and I think I know—"

"Exactly." Chris pushes up a little from his trappings, struggles until Zach heaves an exasperated sigh and peels the first layer down enough for Chris to sit up. "Thanks. Sorry." He shoves a few more layers off, which leaves him free enough to take Zach's hand. He doesn't though. "I don't want you to have to deal with it. You came out so you wouldn't have to hide and this—me staying in the closet—means you would have to hide. It's all right, honestly," he adds quickly when he gets silence. "If we're not together, it won't matter. It'll be better."

Zach stares at him for a minute, and then looks away, his jaw palpating. When he looks back at Chris again, he jerks a nod. "So, that's it then."

Chris' stomach twists, but he's been waiting for this. "If that's what you want, I understand."

Zach frowns. "That's not what I want."

Chris can feel his face crumpling with confusion. "It's not? But I thought—"

"Are you kidding me?"

"Um… No? I—" The rest of his confusion is silenced as Zach scrambles into his lap, takes his face firmly between his hands and kisses him. It takes a minute for Chris to remember what he's supposed to be doing with his lips. By the time he remembers, Zach is pulling away.

"What the hell, Chris?" His tone is slightly manic, and Chris would think he was laughing, except he looks kind of pissed. "That's why you were ignoring me?"

"I thought…" He's still confused. "You were so insistent that Paramount would cave, and I…"

"Thought it was an ultimatum?" Incredulous now, and very probably a little hurt. He's pulling away again, off Chris' lap this time. He takes his glasses off, rubs at his eyes. "Jesus, Christopher…"

When he drops his hand, Chris takes it. Zach sighs, but threads their fingers together. "I wouldn't do that. I mean, I didn't really think they'd give you a rainbow parade."

"You didn't?" He's relieved when Zach laughs, even though it's a little strained.

"Chris, I know how this shit works, okay? Paramount pulled me in for a big meeting after I came out, and I mean they never actually said it outright, but they were freaking out. They're still worried that everyone will just see Zach, the big queer, when they watch the sequel."

"They are?"

"Uh, yeah. Spock got the girl, remember? So, I'm supposed to talk about that a lot in interviews, play up the intimacy angle, sex, Vulcan mating cycles if we get a chance…"

"And you didn't feel the need to share this with me?" Chris asks, a little miffed now. Zach sighs again.

"I was hoping… stupid, I know, but I was hoping it would go easier for you. Especially because they're used to me. But, I mean, I get it. I ruined it for you."

"You didn't—"

"Not on purpose, but essentially, yeah, Chris, I did. But look, I'm sorry." He squeezes Chris' fingers. " I didn't mean for you to think I was just going to fuck off if things didn't go well today."

Chris is busy staring at their tangled fingers. He rubs Zach's thumb with his own. "I wouldn't have blamed you."

"Do you really think I'm that much of an asshole?"

Chris' eyes fly up. Zach looks really worried.

"I mean, I know I already sort of was at the beginning…"

"You weren't an asshole," Chris assures him. "I'm serious, I understood. I would still understand—"

"Don't finish that sentence."

Chris smiles a little, but it's not really that simple. "There is a second option."

"Let me guess: we bribe the writers to turn the subtext into text."

Chris doesn't smile this time. "If I drop out of the movie, this won't be a problem."

"No." Automatic, forceful. Zach's mouth is in a hard line. "You're not doing that."

"What was that about it being my choice?" Chris' raises a sardonic brow, but Zach isn't impressed.

"Chris, you can't come out for me. That never works."

"Zach—"

"From a purely selfish standpoint, do you really think I want that on my conscience? Besides, you love playing Kirk. And unless I drop out too, it won't be a lot of fun to come home and talk about my day. I want to be on the set with you for the next five months."

Smiling, and not wanting to be, Chris drops his eyes. Stares stupidly at their tangled fingers, and finally strokes his fingers over the soft hair on Zach's arm. _Five months_. "I do love playing Kirk."

"It's the despot in you."

Chris chews at his lip. "Are you sure about this? You're all about honesty and being your true self."

"In theory, sure."

Chris looks up again, and Zach takes that as his cue to lean forward and kiss him. "In theory?" Chris echoes skeptically when he pulls back. Zach smiles.

"A true self can be fluid depending on its audience."

"Oh really?"

"Yep."

Since it isn't in Chris' best interest to argue, he takes Zach's face between his hands and kisses him again. "Are you sure, though?" he asks, not letting go. "This isn't what you wanted."

"I wanted to be open about my sexuality. It doesn't mean I have to tell them who I'm fucking."

"And that doesn't sound a little too much like don't ask, don't tell?"

Zach nudges him down into the pillows. He uses his elbows to tuck Chris' arms close to his sides, seeming satisfied that he's effectively trapped. "This isn't my first choice. Just shut up and let me talk for a minute. Thank you."

Chris gives him a half-hearted glare, but only gets amusement.

"Not my first choice. And at some point, I think you're going to get tired of dancing for them. But," he says firmly when Chris tries to interrupt again; Zach kisses his nose, and Chris is startled into compliance, "I don't get to make that choice. Ultimately, it has to be about what you want."

"I don't want to be a coward."

"Was I coward before I came out?"

"Of course not."

Zach shrugs. "We've got… what? Four years? Three, if you want to drop the bomb once filming is finished. They can't fire you after that."

Chris doesn't say anything, and Zach's face scrunches up and he quickly amends, "That is, if you even want to come out, then. Because—"

"That's not it," Chris assures him. He can't touch like he wants so he stretches his neck and is obliged with a kiss. "It's just… three years is a long time. Do you really think this is feasible?"

"Did you forget that I wasn't planning on groping you in public?"

"You make it sound so easy."

"Because I'm trying to focus on the positives here, Pine." It's a teasing tone, affectionate, and Chris doesn't mind it this time. "And now I'd like to fuck you."

"Done."

Smiling, Zach moves his elbows so that Chris can wriggle free, but as soon as he is, Zach takes his fingers so he can kiss the tips. "You okay with all of this?"

"I don't know. I mean, yes," he amends when Zach frowns. "If you are."

Settling in again, Zach kisses him. "I already told you I am."

"You don't think we're insane?"

"Oh, I think insanity's a given."


	2. Unraveling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It doesn't matter that Chris has to pretend he's straight. He and Zach are fine. Everything's fine.

"Won't that be a little obvious?" Zach asks as he zips his carry-on and sets it next to the bed. "Taking someone to the airport is usually a boyfriend job."

"I'll wear my best disguise," Chris suggests hopefully, from where he's standing near Zach's dresser, not being particularly helpful in the packing process. This is something that tends to suck about not broadcasting their relationship, besides which, Chris doesn't want him to go. "And if anyone asks, I'll say I was keeping your brother company."

"Keeping him company? That's the best you can come up with?"

"Um, we're playing basketball afterward?"

Zach rolls his eyes.

"What? Joe and I could be friends."

"You and Joe _are_ friends."

"Exactly."

Zach smirks at him. "Fine. You can come."

"Thanks, Zach," Chris says with sarcastic relish. "So magnanimous of you. Really."

"Oh shut up, and get over here so I can fuck you."

"Nah," Chris says, feigning a yawn. "Too tired."

"Oh. Um, okay." Zach stuffs his hands into his pockets, trying not to look disappointed. "What do you want to do?"

"Oh, I don't know. How about you fuck me?"

Zach brightens, but then he immediately scowls and drags Chris in with a handful of shirt. "You're such a dick."

Chris just grins.

\---

Chris scowls in response to the flashing cameras and ploughs ahead of Zach, limp notwithstanding.

He doesn't expect Zach to hurry to catch up, but he's right behind him a second later, although he doesn't touch. Not while they're still in front of the unexpected paps.

As soon as they're inside the house though, ushered in by Zach's useless publicist, he takes Chris' arm and pulls him gently away from the crowd—who have no interest in their private lives anyway—and into a quiet corner.

The hum of conversation and laughter, and the backbeat of music beneath, will ensure they keep their privacy.

"Hey," Zach murmurs, drawing Chris close by the waist, sliding his arms around him and pulling him into a hug. Chris doesn't resist, but he doesn't stop scowling either.

"Fucking paps…"

Zach kisses his neck softly, just beneath his ear. "Don't worry about it. They were taking pictures of everyone."

Chris huffs.

Zach kisses him again. "You were limping..."

"Yeah, well," Chris mutters, "you really went to town last night."

He sees quilt twist Zach's face and immediately regrets his tone. They haven't seen each other since Zach slid out of bed that morning, after sleepy kisses and wishes for a good day. Chris had already been waiting outside when Zach picked him up twenty minutes ago, so of course he hadn't known about the limp.

He had asked for it rough, and had enjoyed it, but before he can say as much, Zach presses lips back to Chris' pulse, tightens his grip. "Sorry," he breathes.

"I wasn't complaining." His hands soothe up and down Zach's back. "Wouldn't mind another round after this." The regret dissipates from those dark eyes. "Or, right now."

Zach huffs a laugh against his lips, licking at him when Chris hums in contentment and part his lips. Zach pulls him closer, catches the back of his neck to keep him there. This particular corner is mostly shadow.

"Reward for not losing it out there?" he asks hopefully when they have to breathe again.

"Find me some real privacy and I'm yours."

Chris grins, kisses him soundly. He winds their fingers together, gives him a tug. Smiling, Zach obeys the pressure as they move away from the wall. Chris rubs their pinkies together, all thoughts of the press forgotten.

\---

Chris sinks onto his couch, trying to convince himself it's not a big deal. It doesn't work. His phone rings a second later. Of course it's Zach. "Fuck," he mutters before sliding his thumb across the screen. "Hey."

"Are you home?" He sounds pissed.

"Um, yeah, but—"

"I'll be there in five." He hangs up before Chris can respond, and for a minute, he actually considers slipping out the back door. Instead, he opens the door before Zach has to wrestle with his key. His eyebrows are particularly thunderous today. "This is bullshit," he says by way of greeting.

"I know—"

"How did they even notice? And who the hell would latch onto something like that? This is crazy."

Chris closes the door softly, watching Zach stalk across the room, not interrupting his gestures or his rant.

"It was meant to be something between us, and they can't even give us that? Just this one damn thing." He collapses into one on the chairs, arms and legs spread out obstinately and glares through his floppy fringe. "Aren't you pissed?" he demands. "Why aren't you pissed?"

"Um, I've been more worried that you would be pissed."

"I _am_ pissed!"

Chris crosses the room and perches carefully on the arm of the chair. "I know," he says quietly, reaching out to comb the indignant hair from his forehead; the bracelet—source of Zach's bad mood—clinks with the one his sister gave him. "I'm sorry."

Some of the angry lines are smoothing away, and Zach is leaning into his hand, but as soon as the apology emerges, he sighs and tugs him off his perch. With a soft grunt, Chris lands inelegantly in his lap. They don't really fit, but Zach doesn't seem to care, cuddling him close and nosing in his hair. "It's not your fault."

Chris shrugs. It is his fault, but he's learned by now not to argue about it.

Zach slides their fingers together, presses palms and wrists close so that their bracelets scrape against each other. "I just…"

"I know."

"Just this one thing," Zach mumbles. "They won't even let us have this one thing."

Something so small, meant just for the two of them; a way to be connected when they're separated by work, or when they can't be close even when they're in the same room. It was supposed to be just for them.

"How did they even put the two together?" Zach grouses; closer to a whine, but Chris just kneads his neck and lets him have it.

"They took the picture down already," he says when the muscles begin to relax under his ministrations. "It'll blow over."

"They ordered you not to wear it again." The tension returns, and Chris grimaces. He didn't realise Zach's publicist had heard that part. So much for Chris' plan to just be more careful. "They can't tell me not to wear it," Zach says indignantly. "But if you can't wear yours, what's the point?"

Leaning in to kiss gently at his throat, Chris promises, "We'll find something else." He has to force himself not to apologise again.

"They'll see something else too. Why can't they just leave us alone?"

Not sure if he's referring to their rabid fans or to Paramount, Chris doesn't answer. "Something they won't see then," he says.

"Besides a tattoo on your dick," Zach retorts, "what else is there?"

Chris grins at that. "What like, 'Property of ZQ'?" he teases, and is not at all expecting the twitch of interest against his hip. He laughs. "Really?"

"Well, maybe not on your dick," Zach grumbles, but Chris can hear the smile in his voice. He's fingers have slipped beneath Chris' shirt though, and that's progress. He pulls Chris closer. "And maybe just ZQ. But definitely, somewhere no one gets to see but me."

It's just as surprising to Chris when his own dick twitches with interest.

\---

"I can't believe you two," Alice sighs as they're finally ushered off the stage, while Zach and Chris give in fully to their fit of giggles. They collapse against each other, and even if Christ wanted to stop at this point, there's no way.

The laughter just bubbles over into hysteria again when Zach groans, "God, why is it so hot in here?"

He's pretty sure Alice has given up and wandered off with J.J. She's not really mad, though. J.J. might be, but they can worry about that later. When they're not giggling and Zach's not getting caught in his jacket as he tries to yank it down. Chris laughs again, struggles to help him and somehow they manage to stumble down the too-bright hallway and into Chris' dressing room.

"Help me," he groans as soon as the door is closed behind them. Zach is already out of his jacket, and it's Chris' turn to get stuck. His shirt is sticking to him patches, which is not helping. Zach laughs at him, but he stops pulling at his own tie and takes over, pushing the jacket over his shoulders. Instead of shoving it off the rest of the way, though, he slides his hands down Chris' arms, pushes his wrists together, smirking when Chris protests, "Hey! I helped you."

"You did," Zach agrees. "And thank you for that." He twists the material, peeling it down enough to bind his arms.

"Come on, man, it's too hot," Chris huffs, trying to twist out of the tangle, but Zach only raises his eyebrows, twists sharply so that Chris gasps.

"Is it?" he asks, voice low and deceptively pleasant. This is probably a bad idea, but then that isn't a new concept with them. There are people just outside, lots of people. But it's not like the door isn't locked—

"You're distracted." Hands in his hair this time, tug just as sharp and Chris can only make a breathless apology. Zach's smile is a razor's edge as he takes him in hand.

When Chris is almost there, he tries to tell Zach, but as soon as the babbled words emerge, Zach pulls away, lets Chris' dick flop against his stomach and starts jerking himself off instead while Chris whimpers and tries uselessly to twist closer.

Chris pants out a plea, but Zach shakes his head, murmurs, "Watch."

Chris obeys and he swears he can feel the echo of Zach's hand, as if he's still being touched. He's whining by the time Zach comes, desperate. Zach is breathing heavily, panting and grinning as he grips Chris' dick in his cum-spattered palm and jerks him roughly. It only takes two strokes.

Zach is heavy against him, breathing into his neck as Chris tries to get his breath back. "What…" He sucks in air and barely manages the scratched words, "… the hell was that?"

"I have no idea," Zach mutters. "Except… I'm pretty sure I'm seriously in love with you." He doesn't tense, but it's still, quiet and Chris wonders if Zach can hear his heart pounding.

"And that makes you want to torture me?" As soon as it's out, he wants to kick himself. But Zach laughs, which vibrates Chris' throat.

"You love it."

Relieved, Chris smiles. "I do." He brushes his thumbs over Zach's slippery flanks. "I love you too, you know." He feels good to say it, feelings out loud. Zach breathes deeply and then lifts his head. His smile is soft, so are his lips when he leans in.

He sighs when they break, rests their foreheads together. "It's still too hot."

Chris can't help it; he laughs.

\---

"And other good things as well?" Chris teases, smiling as Zach's fingers trail lazily over his naked body.

"Wasn't that good?" Zach's voice in the crook of his neck is sweet, soft, post-coital affection, and Chris is pretty sure it's his favorite kind of Zach.

"Amazing," he confirms, shivers then as Zach's breath tickles his ear. A kiss over his carotid.

"You're amazing," he murmurs, pulling him closer, winding their legs together so that Chris can't get away; not that he wants to. "So many good things..."

Chris smiles, lifts his face so that Zach can find his lips.

\---

"Why didn't you wake me up?" Zach asks as they wait for the next interviewer. "I would have gone back to the beach with you."

Shrugging, Chris accepts the water his assistant passes to him. "Thanks." After a long drink, during which Zach is watching him patiently. He smiles a little, caps his water. "I couldn't sleep."

"Who did you go with?"

"No one."

"You just went to sit on the beach by yourself?" Zach pokes his arm. "In the middle of the night?"

"We're ready in two," one of the producers announces, too close to their chairs and both of them pull back a little, but she doesn't seem to notice, waving a clipboard in their faces as she says something to someone across the room and then moves off.

"Oh, Christopher," Zach sing-songs, leaning in and poking at him again. "Why are you being weird?" he asks, in a normal tone when Chris makes a face at him. The producer comes back, bringing an army of assistants with her to adjust microphones and touch up the makeup which is currently melting under the hot lights. Chris is grateful for the reprieve.

When they finally finish for the day though, Zach is twitchy. "So?" He's cornered Chris in the tiny closet disguised as a dressing room. "You going to tell me what's going on?"

Sighing, Chris rubs at his freshly-scrubbed face. "Can't it wait until we're back at the hotel?"

"Nope." Zach's sitting the wrong way in a wooden chair, his forearms propped on the rail while Chris washes his face for the second time. "Spill."

Chris stuffs his face in a towel for a minute, but eventually has to come up for air. "Publicist called me."

Zach doesn't react, except to nod. "And?" He's getting better at that.

"She wants us to tone down the interviews. The vocab battles, especially. And the touching."

"Nope." Feigning cheer, Zach grins at him.

Chris turns to face him, frowning a little. "Um…"

"Last time I checked—" Zach pushes up from the chair and turns it to thump up against the wall. "—a little competition doesn't mean you're hot for your co-star—"

"But I _am_ hot for my co-star."

"Not the point, Christopher."

"It's a little the point. She also said you hit me too much."

"Oh, _did_ she? Well, if she knew how much you like that sort of thing…"

Chris tries to ignore the heat creeping up his neck, but at least it amuses Zach. "You look so pretty like that."

Sighing, Chris lets Zach pull him in by the waist. "Can we be serious for a minute?"

"I am being serious. You're gorgeous." He sighs when Chris just frowns at him. "You haven't announced you're fucking a man yet, so you're fine."

His tone gives Chris pause, but Zach is kissing him in the next second, so he doesn't have a chance to analyze it.

"But hey," Zach says, pulling back enough that they're looking at each other, "next time you feel the need sit by the ocean, wake me up."

And he does finally look serious. In fact, he looks really unhappy, so maybe that was what the tone was about.

"You're never going to give up on your quest for beach sex, are you?" Chris teases, and is relieved when Zach smiles.

"When we retire, it's going to be on our own private island," he says it like it's a threat. "Beach sex. Everyday."

\---

"That’s what you’re wearing?"

Chris pretends not to know what he’s talking about as he gathers up his wallet and phone. ”I look great in this shirt.” 

"You do," Zach agrees, swatting him on his way to get his own phone, "but I’m thinking your publicist won’t care."

"Yeah, well, she can go fuck herself," Chris mutters. And usually he would care too. but all this crap lately about too much touching. Too obvious, she laments over and over. Like it actually matters in the grand scheme of anything that he and Zach spend their free time fucking. 

Zach’s silence is pretty loud, and for a second Chris thinks he’s going to find himself a new shirt. It's probably not the best idea to coordinate their shirts. Chris tenses, but he’s not going to argue. He doesn’t want to argue about this. 

But Zach doesn’t argue. He catches the back of Chris’ neck, nudging his face up for a kiss. He’s smiling when he pulls away, and it eases the worry sitting hard in Chris’ chest. He smiles too. 

"Come on," Zach says, entirely cheerful now. And why shouldn’t he be? It was never his idea to hide. And this, their own little fuck you to Chris’ paranoid team—and to Paramount—has to feel like a victory. 

It isn’t one. Not even close. And at some point, Chris thinks, he’ll have to make a choice. 

He doesn’t want to think about it. 

So he thinks about Zach instead, winds their fingers together as they step into the elevator. Zach, eyes soft, pulls him in and they kiss their way down to the lobby.

\---

"Personal space, Chris," his publicist says slowly, as if he's very young and very slow. "You don't drape yourself all over anyone else."

"I don't know if _drape_ —"

"It's fair," she retorts, because she's heard the protest before.

"We were looking at the guy's photo album. It's sort of hard to do that without—"

"No," she says firmly. "It isn't. The two of you looked like you were squealing over your wedding photos."

"Wedding photos?" Chris echoes, half-amused as he loops Noah's leash a little more securely around his wrist and turns the corner. He's also not supposed to be walking Zach's dog, but Zach's out of town, and hey friends walk each other's dogs. His publicist doesn't agree. "How do you even come up with this stuff?"

"I don't come up with it, Chris. It's all over the internet."

Sighing, Chris gives the leash a little tug to encourage Noah up the steps and then fumbles with the doorknob. "Look, I can't help what the internet—"

"That's exactly what you're supposed to be doing. Making sure these ridiculous memes don't get made—"

The door is pulled open, and Chris stops listening. "Zach! What the fuck?" Zach is standing in the door, grinning at him. But just for a second, and then Noah crashes past Chris and the two of them are all over each other, and Chris laughs as he watches their ecstatic reunion.

"Chris?" His publicist, annoyed and confused.

"I gotta go, but yeah, I heard you," he interrupts her swiftly. "I'll tone it down. Later," he adds firmly when she tries to interject. He shoves his phone into his pocket and goes inside, locking the door behind him and then he's got an armful of Zach, a mouthful as well, kissed breathless before he's prepared. When Zach pulls back, he's still grinning and Noah is nosing at both of them, whimpering and probably trying to get Zach all to himself again.

"What are you doing here?" Chris demands, still grinning.

"Aren't you happy to see me?"

"Fucking ecstatic." Chris pulls him in, kissing him long enough that Noah gives up and slumps to the floor.

"What are you toning down?" Zach eventually murmurs, brain clearly only half with the question.

"Nothing," Chris tells him, still smiling and impatient to get back to the kisses, or more probably some quality time under the sheets. Discussing his publicist won't help with that. "You weren't supposed to be home for two more days."

"I got done early. God, I missed you. Come here." Chris lets Zach pull him in snugly, his publicist, and her personal space dictates, completely forgotten.

\---

"Enough with the wetsuits," Chris sighs when they're finally ushered away from the cameras and into the green room to wait. "People are going to start thinking you're obsessed with my dick."

"I am _impressed_ with your dick, Christopher. There's a difference." Zach grins as Chris jostles him with a shoulder.

"Not much of one. Seriously—"

"Seriously," Zach interrupts, leaning in to nuzzle at his neck while a hand wanders too close to his crotch; or not quite close enough actually. "You looked amazing in that thing."

"But do you really need to keep reminding everyone? It was bad enough…" He trails off as Zach cups his dick. "They'll… jesus… be back in a minute."

"Mm," Zach agrees, but doesn't stop and Chris groans and lets his head fall back against the wall. "Better hurry, then." He drops to his knees and before Chris can protest—not that he would—Zach is sucking his dick.

He comes in record time, panting and forcing himself not to twist Zach's hair in his fingers. Zach tucks him away and straightens to kiss him roughly. Not expecting the teeth, Chris makes a surprised noise, but goes pliant under the onslaught, fingers curling in Zach's shirt and just trying to hold on.

Zach doesn't pull away until there's a knock at the door. He's breathing heavily. He doesn't say anything and either does Chris. The knock sounds again, as impatient as the assistant's nasal voice, "We need you back on set!"

Zach purses his lips and says gruffly, "You look like someone just sucked your dick." He smiles like an afterthought, and it's stiff.

Before Chris can reply, Zach turns to the mirror, runs a cursory hand through his hair and pulls the door open for the exasperated assistant, but not all the way. "Sorry. We're coming."

She leaves without a word and Zach twists around a little. "Meet you out there?"

Feeling unsettled, Chris nods and Zach slips out.

He doesn't bring up the wetsuits again.

\---

"Tattoos?" Chris' publicist's voice is pitched high and incredulous, but he has no idea what she's talking about. He blinks blearily at the clock beside the bed, takes a further second to note that Zach is passed out next to him—snoring lightly as he tends to do after a drunken night—and another to croak a response, which sounds mostly like he's gargling rocks.

He tries again, "What?"

" _Tatoos_. This is your idea of being discreet?"

For an unreal moment, Chris thinks she means the tattoos that he and Zach got together—finally something that no one else would ever see. But that's impossible. His heart is thumping anyway. "Um…" He swipes a hand over his face and pushes out of bed, not wanting to wake Zach. "Hold on…" Once he's pulled on shorts and ducks out onto the balcony, he says gruffly, "I don't know what you're talking about. What tattoo?"

"Let me guess," she goes on in the same irritated tone. "You were too drunk to remember you let Zach post pictures of your matching tattoos?"

It takes a ridiculously long time for that to make sense. And when it does, Chris flips over his arm and squints down at his wrist, at the weird cat with the x for an eye. "He posted it? Posted it where?"

A gusty sigh hisses at his ear. "Instagram, Chris. He posted it last night."

Chris has no memory of it. "Oh," he says anyway. But he does remember Zach taking a picture at the club. Giddy and drunk and handsy as hell, and Chris can't even remember caring about it. The club had been dark, no one giving a shit about them. At the time, it had been amazing.

"He has to take it down," she interrupts the hazy memories. "The internet has exploded over it."

"I'm sure it hasn't exploded—"

"Look, Chris," she says and that's about as harsh as she gets, "I'm not fucking around here. This is skirting the edge of a very thin line."

"It's just a tattoo." But he has to pause, because he isn't even sure what the picture is. He thinks he remembers Zach taking a picture of their wrists. He's almost positive there was nothing provocative about it.

"It's _matching_ tattoos."

"On our wrists." He's too fucking tired for this. "Is that the one you're talking about, because—"

"There are others?" She's practically shrieking now and Chris makes a face as he pulls the phone away from his ear. "Please tell me you didn't actually let him take pictures of the two of you—"

"Jesus Christ," he sputters. " _No_."

"Well thank god for that." She sounds so relieved that Chris doesn't have the heart to tell her he isn't one hundred positive about that. "This is bad enough. Tell him to take them down, and it should die down pretty quickly."

He lets her go on, only half listens to her warnings and subtle ultimatums, barely listening at all as he tries to figure out if it's worth a fight with Zach.

Not that they ever really fight about this stuff. Because Zach always gives in, does what Chris asks. Even though he hates it.

By the time he hangs up, his stomach is twisted in knots, and it only gets worse when he actually checks out Zach's instagram page. Because it is that stupid shot of their wrists. The caption doesn't even identify him, although the bracelet is a giveaway. He wishes now that he hadn't worn it.

With his publicists' dire warnings still rattling around in his head, he goes back inside, to find Zach blinking blearily up at him from the bed, his hair rumpled and pillow creases decorating his cheeks. Chris smiles despite himself, puts his phone aside and slides into bed—and into Zach's waiting arms.

"Where'd you go?" he mumbles into the crook of Chris' neck as he winds their legs together, always the octopus in bed.

Chris kisses the side of his head. "Phone call."

"Mm." Zach breathes against his neck for awhile. "Everything all right?"

"Yeah." It is, whatever his publicist has to say about it. They've got a free morning, plans to see the city, definitely no plans at all to have an argument.

No plans, but it happens anyway.

Before they even make it out the door, because of course Chris' publicist calls Zach's publicist. It's obvious the minute Zach answers, his eyes immediately flicking back to Chris.

Chris grimaces in response, not bothering to pretend he doesn't understand the frown.

"It was a stamp for a club we went to," Zach says, irritation already finding its way into his voice. "Why do I have to be drunk to post a picture of our wrists? Jesus, I didn't even—" He stops talking abruptly, which is sort of surprising. And when he speaks again, the anger is reigned in. "Yeah. I know." A quick sigh. "I know you are. It's fine. Okay. Tomorrow's fine. Thanks." He ends the call, turning away toward the window.

Calming his temper, which Chris appreciates. "Why do I always have to hear about this bullshit from someone else?"

Chris wants to protest that it's not always, but he doesn't. "I didn't want to have an argument," he says instead. "It's our first free day—"

"When do I _ever_ argue about this?"

"Zach—"

But Zach shakes his head as he finally turns around. "It's fine. It's just a picture, right? I'll delete it." He turns the phone on, but Chris drops a hand over his fingers and they look at each other.

"You don't have to do that," Chris eventually says. "You didn't say it was me, and even if you had—"

"Apparently, the world would end."

Chris doesn't know how to respond to the bitterness, so he just takes the phone from Zach's hand and sets it carefully on the desk behind him. Zach says nothing, but he does accept Chris' arms around him a second later. They stand there, hugging, in the middle of Zach's suite, for a long time while Berlin waits outside the window.

\---

"Dating for years?"

"Why are you mad at me?" Zach demands. "I didn't say it."

"But you didn't deny it. And your face—"

"My face? You're mad because I can't control my face? Seriously?"

They're standing at opposite ends of Zach's kitchen, and it's odd feeling, not to want to go over to him. Chris doesn't like it, so he holds up his hands, feeling vaguely like he's orchestrating a surrender. "You're right," he says, hating that he sounds so careful. "I'm sorry, it's just…"

"I know," Zach says, but it's a little too curt.

Chris moves over to him, putting his arms carefully around Zach's neck and although reluctant to admit it, he's relieved when strong arms slide around his waist. "It was actually really cute."

A dark eyebrow rises. "Cute?"

"She was only upset because your face is so expressive."

"Can we not talk about your publicist right now?" Zach's trying for casual and failing spectacularly. Chris pets his neck.

"Your face does a thing," he goes on. "When people talk about me."

"A thing?" He's smiling a little now, shifting Chris toward him reflexively.

"Yeah. A dopey, _can't help but love the adorable little shit_ thing."

Zach's arms tighten. "I can't help it," he mumbles into Chris' skin. Relieved, Chris smiles, and when he turns his head, Zach kisses him.

\---

"So…?" Chris gathers the duvet in his palms, watching reactions carefully. "What happened?"

Zach shoves his phone into his pocket with an irritated huff. "You know what happened."

"Yeah, but—"

"I basically told an entire generation of Star Trek fans to go fuck themselves."

A little taken aback, Chris stumbles, "Zach, I don't think—"

"Well, you might not think so, but my people do. And Leonard…" Zach gestures angrily, pushes a hand through his hair and stalks out of the room. It takes a minute for Chris to put on a neutral face and follow him. Truthfully, he gets why everyone's upset with him. But that's not what Zach needs to hear right now.

He's standing in the kitchen, texting furiously. He doesn't look up when Chris leans against the opposite counter. Chris waits until he stops typing to begin again, which takes a ridiculously long time. "What did they say?" He's more interested in what Leonard said, seeing how upset Zach is, but he'll take what he can get.

"What do you think they said, Chris?" Zach isn't looking at him, at his phone anymore either, but at some point beyond Chris' shoulder.

"I don't know." But that's a lie. Chris imagines they told him he could lose everything if he continues to insult the people that pay his bills. "It'll blow over." It's lame and not even a good attempt at comfort.

Zach makes a frustrated gesture that ends with his hands tugging at his hair. "I just lost it," he mutters, turning away to stare out the window. "How is it their fucking business if we're together?"

That's not even close to being the point, but Zach swearing is not a good sign, so Chris just murmurs, "It's not."

"It's _not_." Zach pivots, his face twisted with anger renewed. "Who the hell even asks a question like that?"

"I don't know, Zach. You know how fans can get—"

But Zach is not even listening to him. "And I just _lost_ it. She was a teenager, for god's sake and I was so condescending. I haven't lost it like that…" He trails off, shakes his head.

Chris takes his bicep, gripping lightly. Zach finally looks at him. He looks awful—scared and vulnerable. And so unhappy. "I'm sorry," Chris says quietly. "I'm sorry that happened. They should have prepared you better—"

But Zach shakes his head. "They're not the problem. Someone asking me about fanfiction isn't the problem." He pulls away, turns to face the window again. Chris watches him, unease catching him hard in the chest. "This is too hard, Chris," Zach mutters to the pane of glass. "It shouldn't be this hard."

Chris' heart is suddenly pounding against his ribs. "It won't be forever."

"I'm going insane, Chris. It wasn't supposed to be like this." His head drops against the pane. "It's too hard."

Chris swallows twice before he can manage to ask, "So, what are you saying? What do you want to do?"

"I don't know." Zach mumbles, rakes a hand through his hair, and ducks his head, only looking at Chris out of the corner of his eye. "I just need to think, okay?"

Chris stares at him, unable to process much past the sick feeling in his stomach. "Okay," he says dully.

Zach doesn't say anything.

He leaves. The click of the door is the announcement.

\---

Sleep is the only option, not that Chris means to sleep. He's woken up when arms slide around him from behind. He jolts, instinctively stiffening to throw off the intrusion until he realises it's Zach.

Zach whispering, "I'm sorry," voice tight in a way that makes Chris' stomach dance. He wants to say something, tell him it's fine.

But it's not fine.

The apology is breathed into his neck again and then Zach's hand is sliding down his stomach, fingers finding his zipper with practiced ease. Chris inhales sharply as Zach find his dick. He wants to protest that too, but finds himself leaning back, gasping encouragement and Zach cinches him closer.

It takes all of two minutes before he's coming all over Zach's hand. They're both breathing hard until Zach shifts enough that his dick is no longer pressing insistently at Chris' ass. He pulls his hand away after another minute, probably wipes it on the duvet for all Chris knows, but neither of them bother to zip him back up. Chris doesn't care.

He just knows that he's pissed and doesn't even know how to process whatever the hell that was.

Zach's arm comes back around him again, but the hold is tentative, loose enough that Chris flips around to look at him. It doesn't help. The dark eyes are uncertain, vulnerable again, and Chris just wants to hug him close and promise anything to make it go away.

"What the hell was that?" he asks instead, too raspy.

But Zach shakes his head. "I don't know."

"You left."

"I know."

Chris can feel his eyebrows drawing together. "You _left_."

"I'm sorry." The apology is helpless. He's blinking rapidly, and Chris doesn't know what to do except give in to that urge to hug him. As soon as he pulls him close, Zach's breath leaves in a rush and they're kissing like it's the first time.

Kissing until Chris remembers he's pissed. He pushes away and then they just stare at each other. "Zach—"

"I'm sorry."

"I know," Chris says quickly, not caring anymore that he really should be more pissed about this. He probably is, but this whole thing is his fault. "That's not— It's fine, I just—"

"It isn't. I shouldn't have—"

"No, you shouldn't have." It comes out a bit harsher than he meant. So, apparently, he _is_ pissed. Zach looks away for a second, but he's nodding when he turns back. Chris intervenes before he can castigate himself again, "Look, Zach, if you needed a minute, I get it. If you need more time—actual time—"

"I _don't_. I was just upset, and acting like a five year old."

Chris can't really disagree with that. But he knows Zach's right. They _can't_ keep doing this. He's known for months that it's killing Zach. Their hiding is responsible for the dark smudges under his eyes, the arguments they never used to have, the shadows where happiness used to reside. “Everything’s so fucked up," he mutters.

It's quiet, almost for too long, but then Zach's fingers find his jaw, and Chris turns back to look at him, his throat stupidly tight. "Not totally fucked up though, right?" Zach says, and it's supposed to be light, a joke, but there's too much strain in his voice. When Chris doesn't say anything, he kisses him gently, "I won't freak out again," he says it against skin, and Chris can't see his eyes but he believes it. Believes Zach won't mean to. "I'm sorry."

Too much groveling. It's not like Zach at all, not like either of them to wallow. But Zach's just waiting there, breath brushing across Chris' chin; waiting for his apology to be accepted, or his kiss to be returned.

Chris' skin feels hot, prickly and the air is too thick. There really is no choice here. They can't go on, hidden in the shadows, Zach as his dirty little secret. He doesn't deserve that.

Chris swallows, slides his fingers into Zach's hair, and really looks at him. At the brown eyes waiting for forgiveness. "Zach?"

His thumb brushes Chris' jaw. "Yeah?"

_I don't want to hide anymore_. That's what he wants to say. But the words get stuck in his throat. He can already hear all the arguments that Zach will make, the protests that Chris is just doing this for him. It's better if Zach finds out with the rest of the world.

This is something Chris needs to do on his own.

Decision made, he smiles. Grins, actually. A big, stupid grin. Zach frowns a little.

"What?"

"Nothing." Chris laughs a little, the tight feeling in his chest already dissipating. "Just… I really love you."

Although he looks confused at the swift change in mood, Zach slowly smiles; the tension is still there, but he means it when he says quietly, "Yeah, I know. I love you too."

Chris pulls him down for a kiss, this one slower and a whole lot better. They're going to be fine. No more hiding. No more pretending. No matter what it means for his career. This is more important.


	3. Into the Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Chris comes out, and Zach is the last to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was inspired by a comment from [rabidchild67](rabidchild67.tumblr.com). Thank you!

Zach is tiptoeing.

Figuratively, and only around Chris. It's been three days since he stormed out of Chris' place. Four since he lost his shit at a fan. But only three since he walked out in the middle of an argument like an asshole.

He doesn't think Chris is still mad at him, but he's hurt. Or wary. Or something. And Zach has no idea which one it is. But something is definitely off.

Even in bed, which is where they usually do their best work.

"Different angle?" he asks, breathless and forcing himself not to thrust again. He doesn't usually have to ask, but Chris' face is all screwed up like he's in pain, so that's a good clue that something isn't working.

"No, no, I'm good," Chris says hurriedly and his expression smoothes into a smile. He squeezes Zach's fingers. "It's good."

It's obviously not, but why he's pretending it is, Zach doesn't know. Not wanting to have an argument—that's the last thing he wants right now—he twists and kisses Chris' thigh. "Need more lube."

He doesn't need more lube. What he needs is for Chris to either forgive him or just yell at him already. Chris doesn't fight with him though, even when he has every right to.

He can't remember if it's always been that way, or if it's a recent development. And maybe that's because everything is muddied by both of them trying so hard lately not to fuck up and out themselves.

Thinking about that doesn't help anything. Especially not now, when he's got Chris beneath him, in the middle of a fuck.

_Jesus Christ._

He focuses, which should not be this difficult, pulling out slowly to a mild protest which turns into a soft moan of appreciation as Zach presses kisses up his thigh. And that's better.

He smiles a little, enjoying the soft sounds. When in doubt, suck Chris off. Works wonders.

This time is no different. He forgoes the lube, concentrating his efforts with lips and tongue; sucking at Chris' balls because he especially likes the noises it elicits. Likes the fact that Chris isn't thinking about anything else right now. Can't possibly be mad at him. Or hurt. Or wary.

He's vaguely disappointed when Chris' balls tighten, his mouth dropping open in that way that means orgasm is imminent. Which is silly, so he ignores the feeling and redoubles his effort. Chris' incoherent swearing, as he comes, is music.

He swallows, listening to Chris mumbling things about how amazing he is, and for a second, Zach forgets that they might be fighting. He lets his cheek press against Chris' groin, the course hair soothing as he breathes.

Chris' hand settles on his head, fingers threading gently through his hair, and for some reason his throat tightens. Feeling oddly panicked, he presses his face into Chris' thigh and that helps. Helps enough that he can drop another kiss to the soft skin and then slide back up to his lips.

Chris greets him with a sigh of appreciation, sinking into the kiss just like he always does. And this time when fingers thread through his hair, Zach doesn't have the urge to cry about it.

Chris' other hand closes around his dick, which, honestly, Zach forgot about; it's gone a little soft. Chris coaxes it back, drawing quick gasps from Zach's lips. Flicks his wrist just the way Zach likes, does that thing with his thumb and then kisses him through his orgasm. Kissing him like he always does, and Zach's elevated pulse has nothing to do with the orgasm.

He's panting too much to keep the kiss going after that, and after some fumbling with a retrieved shirt to swipe spatters—and Chris' hand—they settle together, legs tangling, sweat congealing and Chris using Zach's shoulder as a pillow while Zach combs through his hair.

It's just like any other night.

But he still tenses when Chris says tentatively, "Zach?"

It doesn't seem to matter how silly it is, the panic reappears, but he wrestles it aside again. "Yeah?"

"I was thinking we could go away this weekend."

It takes a second for Zach to process that. "You want to go somewhere?"

There's a pause, and Zach doesn't think he imagines the way Chris stills. "We don't have to, I just thought..."

"No, we can," Zach says quickly. "We can do that. Whatever you want."

Chris lifts his head. He's smiling; and that's better. "Yeah?"

Zach's smiling now too. "Where do you want to go?"

Chris pushes up to kiss him, enthusiastic, the kind of kiss they haven't enjoyed in days. They have to rearrange afterward because Chris doesn't seem to want to let him go, and Zach isn't inclined to anyway.

Into his neck, Chris says, "So you know my parents have this cabin…"

Zach smiles; so much better with his old Chris back. "Mmhm…"

"And neither of us have anything to do for the next week. That can't be done remotely anyway," he adds as a qualifier.

It _is_ a weird lull. But still… "You want to go for a week?"

"Well. We can get a one-way ticket and just…" Chris shrugs.

Kneading his neck, Zach assures him, "We can stay as long as you want." In truth, he thinks a week is way too long to stay at the Pine family cabin. They've never gone, mostly because tucking himself that far away from civilization doesn't appeal to him. For Chris though, it's heaven. "Leaving Friday?" he asks.

"Saturday." Chris wriggles more securely in his arms. "I have a meeting Friday afternoon."

"Do you?" That's news to Zach. "I could leave Friday and you can meet me Saturday." They always travel separately, a day apart if they can swing it, different airports, the whole bit. And it's always irritating. He struggles to keep it from his voice this time though.

"Leave Saturday," Chris says, and maybe he wasn't so successful.

"OK." They'll still have to take different planes. "Want me to take care of it?" His own people are better with shared travel plans; less dickish.

But Chris shakes his head. "I'll do it."

Surprised, but unwilling to rock the waters now that they seem calm, Zach agrees.

-o-

"Babe?" Zach calls over his shoulder, in the direction of the en suite where Chris is trimming his beard.

"Yeah?"

Frowning at the tickets he just plucked from Chris' carry-on, he calls, "Your people fucked up the tickets."

"No they didn't."

"We're on the same flight."

A pause, probably for Chris to frown at the mirror. "Okay," he finally answers, and Zach can clearly hear the strain in his voice. The same strain he always gets when they talk about things like this.

And since Zach feels very strongly about the success of their getaway, he doesn't mention they're also seated next to each other. Instead, he folds the tickets into his palm, leans his head into the bathroom and says, "I'll take care of it."

Chris turns away from the mirror, his trimmer hovering near his jaw. "No, it's okay. You don't have to."

"I don't mind."

Chris glances down at the tiny hairs littering the sink. "Um, if you want, I guess? Thanks."

"OK." Zach has no idea why they're back to tiptoeing but he tries to smile when Chris lifts his eyes. "You off to your meeting?"

"Yeah." He turns his attention back to his beard. "Are you coming back over tonight?"

"I was planning to…"

Chris flashes him a quick smile in the mirror. "OK. See you later?"

Zach nods. He steps over to the sink, and gets a quick peck in goodbye and then Chris' attention goes right back to the mirror.

Something is definitely wrong here, but Zach has no idea what it might be.

-o-

Zach taking care of the tickets means they end up flying hours apart. Chris leaves first thing in the morning. Zach arrives in the afternoon, and once he's texted Chris to tell him he's on his way, he gets a cab to take him to the cabin.

The cabin isn't exactly in the middle of nowhere, but it is private. And not actually a cabin, but a large house.

The front door opens before the cab is even out of the driveway and Chris emerges, smiling. He jogs down the steps and Zach is folded up in a fierce hug. Too fierce really for the seven hours hours they've been apart. "You okay?" Zach asks quietly, holding him just as tightly.

"Yeah," Chris mumbles into his neck. "Yeah, I'm great. I'm just glad you're here."

So maybe Zach was being paranoid; it's not the first time. He turns Chris' face to him and decides he doesn't care if they're standing out in the open.

"How was your flight?" he asks after a satisfyingly long kiss. Chris makes a face and shoulders one of Zach's bags.

"It sucked. The woman sitting next to me would not stop hitting on me. I mean, jeez, take a hint, right?"

"You should have told her you were with someone," Zach says, smile tighter than he means it to be. He doesn't add that if they had flown together like a normal couple, he would have been next to him instead.

Chris' good mood falters. "Yeah," he says quietly. "I did, but, well…" He shrugs.

"Yeah, I know," Zach interjects quickly, wishing he hadn't said anything. "Want to give me the grand tour?"

"Sure." Chris smiles, but it's lost its exuberance. They go up the stairs together, Zach torn between guilt and irritation. He hates that they have to hide; loathes it. But upsetting Chris is worse.

When they get to the master suite, Zach takes the bag from his shoulder and halts him mid-word with a kiss. The initial surprise is traded in for the kind of reciprocation that inevitably leads to sex.

Which is how they end up on the bed, Chris moaning into the blankets while Zach fucks him. And if he feels the need to trap both of Chris' arms behind his back and leave him begging for release, that's not something he's going to think too hard about.

He knows Chris wouldn't cheat on him. He probably wasn't even flirting. Zach fucks him hard anyway, not reaching around for his dick until Chris' pleas become incoherent and Zach's about to come.

It only takes three hard strokes. Chris comes with a gasp and the feel of him pulsing in Zach's fist is enough to send him over too.

Chris' ass squeezing rhythmically around his dick doesn't hurt either.

He listens to Chris panting under him, his heart clenching in that pleasantly painful way that happens so often when they're together. And has all along.

Zach releases his wrists and leans in to kiss softly at his neck before pulling out and sliding off. Chris makes the whiny noise he always makes when they separate. It's gratifying.

"That was hot," Chris says as he flops over to look at him.

Zach smiles and lifts his wrists to massage the blood back into them, checking to make sure there won't be bruising. He didn't quite mean to hold him so hard, but Chris looks pretty content with the whole thing, never one to complain when Zach gets rough in bed.

"I love this place," he sighs. "Did you see the view?"

He turns over, plucks Zach's arms up so he can wrap them around himself and settle back. Zach's not looking at the view though. He's got his eyes closed, his nose brushing back and forth through Chris' hair. It's overwhelming sometimes, how much he loves him.

And if they didn't have to worry about keeping their relationship quiet, it would be nearly perfect. But it is what it is. He's the one who convinced Chris that was he fine with it. He didn't have to do that. He could have gotten out if that's what he wanted.

It isn't what he wants.

He just wants them to have what every other couple has. Flying together on a plane without complicated maneuvers and checking with handlers about potential paparazzi.

He just wants Chris. No matter what else happens, no matter how many times some studio exec tells them a gay Kirk and Spock is not marketable. Just the two of them. In some tangible way that no one can ever take away.

It's crazy, of course. He knows it the second the idea begins to form, but he pulls Chris in a little closer anyway. "Chris?"

"Yeah?"

He just wants Chris. That's it. Just the two of them. "Do you want to get married?"

The words hang in the air for a second, and then amused, Chris twists his head to smile at him. "What? I think you're still high from …" His voice fades away for a second. "Wait. Are you serious?"

Pretending his heart isn't jackrabbiting, Zach nods. "It's legal now… in California."

Chris stares at him, eyes bright and intense. "You're _serious_?"

"Um, yeah, I—"

Chris scrambles on top of him, knocking him into the mattress. Zach huffs in surprise, but isn't allowed to do more than that. Chris is kissing him, hard and enthusiastic.

He pulls back, just a little, out of breath with color splashed across his cheeks. "You're not fucking with me, right? You actually want to…"

Zach smiles, cups his ass and shifts him so their dicks are nestled together. "I'm not fucking with you."

Chris grins, his eyes shining. "But, how will we even…"

"I don't know," Zach says honestly. "We'll figure it out. No one has to know—"

"Not that." Chris dips down to kiss him again, and by the time he lets him breathe again, Zach can't remember his point. His dick is rapidly filling out, pushing insistently against Chris'. "Did you mean here?" Chris demands. "Or, wait, back home, because—"

"I meant here," Zach says, grinning just as hard now. "But we can wait until we go home. You're adorable, by the way."

Chris grins, kissing him messily and Zach can't help but push Chris' ass down so that they're cocks grind together.

"My mom is going to kill us," Chris pants. "Your mom too, actually—"

"Can we not talk about our moms right now?"

Chris laughs but it's cut off for a gasp as Zach squeezes his ass harder. "Oh my god," he breathes. "Can I fuck you?"

Zach blinks up at him, surprised enough that he stills. "Um, yeah, if you want—"

"I do want. I really, _really_ want."

They rarely do that. Chris really isn't a top, although the way he tells it, it's only ever been with Zach that he prefers to bottom almost exclusively. Which, as far as Zach is concerned, is hot as hell. And he can count on one hand the number of times Chris has fucked him. But if that's what he wants… "Yeah," Zach says, smiling as he cants his hips up so that their dicks rub together again. "Fuck me."

"Oh my god," Chris grunts, eyes falling closed as he grinds down. "Let's do this instead." He gathers their dicks up, squeezes tight. Breathless, he asks, "Can I frot you instead?"

Zach laughs. "Frot me?"

"Yeah. _Frot_ you. As in let me rut your dick until you shoot all over me." Zach's laughter slides into a moan.

"Yeah, baby, do that. _Please_."

Chris starts moving against him, the best kind of friction. And christ, Zach wants to flip them over and bend him in half. But Chris is enjoying himself, squirming artlessly on top of him, breathing filthy endearments over Zach's lips.

Although mostly it's, "Fuck, I love you so much, so much, I'm gonna marry you so hard…"

And Zach wants to laugh, except it feels too good. It's been ages since they've done this. Never with Chris on top.

Zach squeezes at his ass, guides his hips just where he wants them. It makes Chris moan. "Yeah," he breathes. "Just like that." He seems to have forgotten all about topping.

His mouth is open, the tendons in his neck straining. His fingers are digging into Zach's shoulders, probably marking matching half moons to the ones Zach is gouging into his ass.

"Do it," Zach breathes, digging in harder and relishing the way Chris' hips stutter. "Blow all over me."

With an elongated moan, Chris does.

Zach grabs the back of his neck and brings him down for a kiss, keeping his dick pressed close as he thrusts up and then comes as well.

"Holy fuck," Chris mutters, kisses messy as they trail down his chin. He presses his forehead into the crook of Zach's neck. "Holy fuck."

"Good?" Zach mumbles back, slides his fingers through Chris' hair and tries to manage a real breath.

"So good." Chris kisses his clavicle. "And you actually asked me to marry you, right? That wasn't an orgasm-induced hallucination?"

"I actually asked you," Zach answers with a smile.

Chris inhales deeply. "Oh my go-od," he sing-songs softly into Zach's skin. "Seriously, our moms will kill us." He's grinning when he lifts his head. "How are we going to find someone to marry us here?"

"I'm pretty sure they have a city hall or equivalent. And I think there's a privacy clause you can enact so—"

"Who the fuck cares?" Chris is laughing, kissing at his mouth again, his nose, and back to his mouth again, chanting a happy series of _oh my god, oh my god_. "When?" he demands finally. "Did you mean today?"

"Sure," Zach laughs, pulling him in again for another long kiss. "Right now, if you want. I'll google city hall."

Chris grins. "I should have brought you here _ages_ ago."

His mouth full of Chris' tongue again, Zach can only agree with a hum.

-o-

The town in which the Pine family cabin resides boasts a very pleasant justice of the peace, as it turns out. And Zach is oddly taken with the charm of it. He feels like he's in a black and white movie, complete with the grey-haired grandmother who introduces herself as Abigail and ushers them into her living room, after smiling warmly and telling them she'll act as their witness.

It isn't even their first wedding of the day. "A lovely young couple was just in," she tells them while her husband settles his spectacles over the bridge of his nose and shuffles through papers on the desk in the corner. "We always have quite a few during the winter season. The romantic scenery, of course."

Chris grins at that, waggling his eyebrows at Zach in what he supposes is meant to be an I told you so face. Zach smiles, that warm glow still inhabiting his chest.

"There is paperwork to be filled out," Abigail tells them. "If you'll just step over here. And of course, we'll need identification—a driver's license or birth certificate."

They both pull out their IDs, sliding them onto the desk.

"We were actually hoping we could keep this private," Zach says as he takes the pen offered; after Chris fills out his half. "I read that California law allows that, as long as there's good cause."

The justice—he'd introduced himself as Henry—peers over his glasses. "Now, boys, it's nothing to be ashamed of, not in this day and age. Not that it ever was, mind."

"Um." Zach glances at Chris, but he looks like he's trying not to smile and also he offers no help. Zach nudges him unobtrusively with a foot and turns back to Henry. "That's actually not it," he says with a sincere-ish smile. "We uh…"

"They're Kirk and Spock, dear," Abigail interjects, as if she has celebrities in her living room every day—and maybe she does. She smiles at their twin surprise. "I was raised on Star Trek. You should both be very proud of your involvement. Now, Henry," she adds firmly, "you just sign the form to guarantee their privacy and let them get on with their plans."

Henry smiles indulgently at his wife, and dutifully fills the little boxes that will stop the forms from being filed for public viewing. "I'll file the papers myself," he promises them. "There won't be any problem." He thumps an official-looking stamp at the top once Zach is done filling out his information.

"Did you want a traditional ceremony?" Abigail asks, taking both of their arms and steering them toward the mantel. "With vows? Henry can simply sign the documents, and as long as you have a witness to watch you sign, your marriage will be legal. Of course, it's nice to exchange a few words, and rings, if that appeals to you. Are you planning to wear rings?"

"Um…" Zach glances at Chris to gauge his reaction, wondering if that's something he should have thought about. Chris puts hand on the small of his back, a warm weight.

"What do you think?" he asks, eyes still sparkling with excitement. "Traditional vows? We can figure out the rings later."

For a second, Zach's agreement gets stuck in his throat. Because later, Chris will come off his high and realise they can't wear rings in public. They can _buy_ rings, of course, and trot them out when they're alone, and then inevitably one of them will forget to take it back off and the paparazzi will pounce—like they always do.

"You okay?" Chris asks quietly; worried now.

Zach pushes the melancholy—all the worries away—and focuses on Chris. "Let's do the vows."

Chris smiles again, that happiness creeping back. "Yeah?"

"We have to have something really romantic to tell our moms, right?"

"They're going to be so pissed." But he's bubbling over with happiness again. And Zach wants to kiss him right then and there. He restrains himself though, deciding even with their love is for everyone shtick, the justice and his wife probably wouldn't appreciate a full on mouth to mouth.

The paperwork is ready anyway, and Henry shuffles over with a sheet of paper and a bible, of all things. Although if he asks them to swear on it or something, Zach will definitely balk. He doesn't though. Just asks them to face one another and join hands while Abigail slides to the left, looking satisfied.

Chris reaches for him first, and their fingers fall together naturally. For a minute, Zach's afraid his heart might burst from his chest, Chris looks so happy.

He honestly doesn't remember much of the vows, although he supposes it goes like all the others he's heard—richer or poorer, sickness and health. But Zach remembers Chris' promise at the end, how he echoes the vows on a tremulous breath, "To love and cherish. As long as we both shall live."

Zach swallows hard, doesn't want to cry, but he's croaky anyway when he parrots it all back, means it though. Means it with everything he has. And when Henry suggests they seal it with a kiss, he doesn't hesitate. He pulls Chris to him and kisses him. Nothing long or pornographic. But a good one, one that really does feel like a promise, like a solemn vow.

Zach has never been happier.

Chris' eyes are shining, his face split with happiness. He looks like a man desperately in love. Zach knows, because he feels exactly the same way.

-o-

"Do I get to call you my husband?" Chris' nose wrinkles and he looks both delighted and confused. "Is that weird?"

They're in the car Chris rented, still outside the justice's brick house. Zach kisses him again, ignoring the parking brake digging into his hip. "Only if I get to call you mine."

Chris grins, takes Zach's face in his hands and concentrates on the kiss for several seconds. "This is the best idea you've ever had. Are you happy?"

"Exceptionally happy."

"Yeah?"

"Mmhm…" He curls his palm around Chris' neck and that gets him to focus again, for long enough that Zach wonders if semi-public car sex is worth the risk.

"We should celebrate," Chris murmurs; his hand is roaming near Zach's crotch.

"Probably not in the car though…"

Chris' laughter vibrates around his tongue. "Not with sex. Although, when we get back to the cabin… hot tub, definitely. With champagne. My mom has the best—"

"Is this mom thing something I should be worried about, or—"

"Fuck you," Chris retorts happily, kisses him soundly. "Take me to dinner? My treat."

Moving along to nibble at his jaw, Zach agrees with a hum, but can't resist asking, "How is this supposed to work now? Joint checking accounts? Shared toothbrushes?"

"Gross." Chris is smiling though, rubbing his beard all over Zach's face, like a cat. "Zachary Pine, though? I think we should go with my name. Definitely."

"In your dreams. Christopher Quinto sounds so much better, anyway."

"Pine-Quinto?"

"Quinto-Pine."

They're both giggling now, kisses forgotten as they grin at each other. "We're ridiculous," Zach finally points out. He feels like he's sixteen again, in love for the first time.

"We're adorable. Now, seriously, take me to dinner. I'm _starving_."

"You're always starving."

"And now you're legally obligated to feed me."

Zach cups his face. "I am, huh?"

Chris pats his coat pocket, where a copy of the marriage certificate is folded up. "Proof, right here."

"Proof," Zach agrees, leaning in to kiss him gently, his fingers curling over Chris' so that the certificate rustles beneath. "Right here."

-o-

They eat at a cozy restaurant without incident. No one recognizes them here, which is a nice change. One that Chris could get used to. When the waiter brings the bill, they both reach for their credit cards.

"It was supposed to be my treat," Chris reminds him but Zach shakes his head. 

"Legally obligated to feed you, remember?" 

Chris could point out that since they’re married, he’s legally obligated to feed Zach too, but he lets him have it; tucks his card back into his wallet. Smiling, Zach give his own to the waiter. 

"Thanks," Chris says, and then decides that it’s probably weird to thank your husband for paying. He butts Zach’s calf with a foot. "Is this weird?" 

Zach smiles, but he asks anyway, “Is what weird?” 

"We’re married," Chris reminds him in an exaggerated whisper. 

"I know," Zach parrots back, his eyes dancing with mirth. Chris nudges him again, smiling and Zach returns the nudge. "Why is it weird?" 

"It’s not weird. Not a good word choice." 

Zach hums his approval of that. 

"I just mean… maybe we do need a joint checking account?" 

"We’ve been married for two hours." 

Chris smiles. He really likes the sound of that, married. He says so and Zach grins. 

The waiter comes back then with the receipt and Chris watches Zach sign it with a flourish. He leaves a big tip, Chris notes. ”Come on,” Zach says, pushing back his chair, “I believe champagne and a hot tub were promised.” 

"I see how it’s going to be now," Chris sighs dramatically. "Now that we’re married. Sex all the time." 

"Such a chore," Zach agrees as they wind their way out of the restaurant. Chris wants to grab his hand but they’ve never really done that in public so he refrains. 

"I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to stop having sex once you get married," he says once they’re outside, because he likes the amusement that lights Zach’s dark eyes. 

"Who have you been talking to?" 

"It’s in every sitcom ever made." 

Shaking his head, Zach unlocks the car and says morosely, “I knew we should have written our own vows.” 

"What? Like I promise to have sex with you every night?" 

"Twice a day, non-negotiable." 

Chris pretends to think about it. ”Twice a week. Final offer.” He ducks into the passenger side, laughing at Zach’s expression. 

Once he gets inside, Zach grabs his collar and hauls him in for a kiss. A long one, which leaves Chris’ dick hard. ”Okay, fine,” he pants, “Three times.” 

"Fuck you," Zach laughs. Chris leans in for another deep kiss, and decides it’s not weird at all.

\--

"Feel better?" Zach asks as they climb the steps to the cabin. "I think you ate most of the menu."

Chris makes a _har har_ face at him. "I didn't eat all day."

Raising an eyebrow at that, Zach asks, "Seriously? You left L.A. before the sun was up this morning. A bagel was the last thing you ate?"

" _Half_ a bagel. You ate my other half."

Zach kisses his pouty lips. "It was cinnamon. But seriously, why didn't you eat?"

"Plane food," Chris answers, and while it's true that plane fare is not his favorite, Zach has seen him put away both of their in-flight meals. Zach misses the tour sometimes, just because it meant they were flying together regularly—and nobody could suspect a thing.

But he doesn't want to think about separate air travel. He pokes Chris' waist, the hard muscle. "Are you going to let us in?"

"It's cold. Be patient."

Zach plucks the key from his fumbly fingers. "It's not that cold."

"It's northern California. It's practically Oregon."

With the door now shut behind them, Zach gathers up his fingers—and actually, they are a bit on the chilly side. He blows on them, which in turn makes Chris' pupils dilate. Smiling, Zach does it again. "Still happy?"

"What do you think?"

"I think," Zach says as he pulls him close, "that hot tubs and champagne were promised."

"How about," Chris counters, kissing at each corner of his mouth, "vanilla sex in bed with your husband?"

It startles a laugh out of a Zach. Chris huffs at him. "What?"

"Nothing. That actually sounds perfect." Perfect and sappy and ridiculous. Just the way Zach feels.

-o-

"We should probably figure some stuff out," Zach mumbles eventually, when all the vanilla possibilities have been explored and they're naked and cuddling in bed, although his brain is half with Chris' fingers as they draw patterns through the hair on his chest.

"Afterglow, baby," Chris murmurs. "It's a thing."

So Zach falls silent, the pads of his fingers designing their own lines over Chris' back. But after a minute, Chris kisses his shoulder. "What stuff?"

"Just…" He doesn't actually want to talk about anything, but eventually this vacation is going to end, and they'll have to face reality again. He wonders what Chris' people will say, because he'll have to tell them. But Zach isn't ready for any of that yet. "Joint checking accounts?" he settles on, keeping his voice light, and Chris breathes out slowly over his damp skin.

"You're not freaking out, are you?"

Surprised, Zach lifts his head. Chris lifts his too, bottom lip caught between his teeth. "Absolutely not freaking out," Zach tells him. He rearranges them so he's looking down at him, and then hooks a leg over one of Chris' and kisses him. The response is tentative.

Zach pulls back a bit, runs a thumb just beneath his lips, trying to ignore the quiet anxiety trying to settle back in. "Nothing's going to change. We're still just us. I was just kidding about the joint checking accounts. And the toothbrushes." That makes Chris smile, but he still looks worried.

"Do you want it to change though, because…"

"Because?" Zach prompts gently, spreads his fingers over Chris' face because he's leaning into it.

"It would be better, right?" Chris asks. "If we didn't have to hide."

Zach forces himself not to grimace. He's the one that brought this up, after all. "It is what it is," he says, shrugging. "I'm just saying, we'll do all the same things."

"Yeah, but if we're married now—"

"Not if. We _are_ married." Zach points to Chris' coat, flung over a chair in the corner. "Proof, right there."

"I know." Chris kisses him again, and Zach has the feeling he's being humoured. "But married people live together, right?"

"Um… I feel like this is a trick question."

Chris laughs, and that helps to ease the tightness in Zach's chest. "It's not, I promise. But we've never talked about it."

"We spend every night together, and you have most of my dresser—"

"Hey, I'm not complaining. And no way are we having an argument on our wedding night."

"I'm not—"

It's Chris who shifts this time, pushing Zach flat on his back. Zach doesn't protest, or the kiss either. Chris looks very pleased with himself when he pulls back and folds his arms on Zach's chest. "You want the whole thing, right? The whole cheesy, domestic package. With joint checking accounts and everything."

"Um, actually… I think joint checking accounts are sort of passé. Too many images of the fifties' housewife, like the last name thing—"

"Not literally, Zach, _jesus_." But Chris is smiling. "Just focus on the living together thing."

"Well, of course I want to live together."

"Why of course?"

"I asked you to marry me!" And Zach really is halfway to irritated now, but Chris is grinning—and kissing him happily. And christ, Zach is helpless. Doesn't even try to hang on to his exasperation. Just gives up and pulls him in close, so their bodies are flush and if he hadn't just had his third orgasm of the day, he'd be very happy to go again.

Chris' mind though is still with their new domestic situation. "So, where do you want to live?" he asks, when their kisses have slowed a little.

Zach hasn't given it any thought, but he answers immediately, "My place."

Chris' soft laughter vibrates his lips. "Of course you do."

"It's better for the kids," Zach says defensively, but Chris just has his indulgent face on again. And he doesn't even point out that they're not, in fact, kids.

"We can live at your place. I like your house."

"Um… we can redecorate, if you want." Zach absolutely does not want, but married people have to compromise. Or so he's heard.

"It's already perfect." Chris bends down; kisses all over his face, and giving up, Zach lets him. They'll figure it out later.

-o-

Chris' phone rings when they're making breakfast—the very picture of domesticity, according to Chris, although they make breakfast all the time together. Which Zach points out just as the phone goes off.

"So we've been married all along, apparently," Chris says, grinning as he pads over to the table for his phone. "Hello?"

Zach stirs the eggs in a figure eight, only vaguely listening to the conversation, mostly a series of murmurs that sound like agreements. He glances over though when Chris says a little sharply, "It will be." A slow exhale. "Yes, I know. All right. Thanks."

"Everything okay?" Zach asks.

Chris lets out another little breath as he lifts his head. "Yeah. So…"

Zach slides the pan off the burner; turns off the heat. "So...?" he echoes curiously. "What?"

Turning his phone over and over in his palm, Chris smiles a little. "I had that interview Friday. Remember?"

"For your new movie, yeah."

Chris nods. "It wasn't just about the movie. I mean it was, but we talked about a lot of stuff, and well…" He takes a deep breath, all this build-up and still Zach is surprised into silence when he says, "I told them I had a boyfriend."

"You…" Zach knows his expression is shifting, but he feels like he's moving in slow motion. "What?"

"Um… they asked me, so—"

"They asked if you had a boyfriend?" Zach's not sure why his voice is coming out so high.

"Well, no." Chris pauses, his fingers now curled over his phone. He looks confused too, or maybe guilty. Definitely guilty. "They asked if I was dating anyone and I said yes, and used a male pronoun, so… I didn't tell them it was you," he rushes to say, "because we didn't discuss it and I didn't want to make that decision for you or anything—"

"Chris…" Zach feels confused, and unprepared. Mostly confused. "That's… Did you mean to do that?"

Chris stares at him, eyes narrowing a little. "Yeah. I did. I knew they were going to ask about my dating life, and well, I figured it was time…"

"You did?" Zach echoes, knowing this is not how he's supposed to be reacting, but there's a ball of hurt winding its way through his chest. "When did you… Was this like a spur of the moment—"

Chris answers slowly, shifting from foot to foot. "Um… no. Not completely."

Zach's reply is just as slow. "OK. Well, that's… That's great, Chris."

"You're mad."

"No." The denial is automatic, but it still burns Zach's throat. "I'm not," he says more sincerely. "I just… I wish you had told me first. It's okay though," he adds quickly, because Chris looks upset now. "It's your thing."

Chris' eyes slide away briefly. "Right. Look, I'm sorry I didn't tell you—"

"You don't need to be." This is not going right. Zach finally moves toward him, massages his bicep gently as he smiles. "I'm happy for you. How does it feel?"

"Feels great." The tone doesn't match the words, and Chris is holding himself stiffly. Zach gets over himself—at least a little bit—and takes his other arm carefully.

"Hey," he says softly, keeping up the soothing motions with his thumbs. "I was just confused. Surprised. This is amazing." He kisses him, but it takes a minute before Chris relaxes enough to kiss back. "I'm really happy for you," he says when they break. He means it. The petty feeling of hurt he can ignore; so he does.

"Thanks." Chris still doesn't sound entirely happy though; wary, perhaps. Zach kisses him lightly.

"They printed it, I assume?" he asks.

"Yeah. I told them they could."

Zach nods. "And that was your publicist, or…"

"Yeah. Twitter is apparently abuzz."

"And uh… Paramount…?"

"Haven't been heard from yet."

"OK, so. That's good…"

"And your people will probably—"

Zach's phone rings then, but he's in no way prepared to answer any questions. He shouldn't do it, but he reaches into his pocket and silences it.

Chris is frowning, pulling away from him. "Um. Don't you think… You should probably take that."

"I'll call them back." He tugs Chris back in, and he comes with minimal resistance. "What did you… I mean, is there a plan for Paramount?" _And how could you not have told me you were planning to do this?_ That's what he wants to ask; it's on the tip of his tongue. It's been Chris' choice all along; that's been Zach's mantra.

And he should be happy. He should be _elated_.

"Um, not really," Chris says quietly.

"Not really?" Zach gapes at him; can't help it. "Did you discuss this with your people before you…" _Outted yourself, outted both of us without even talking to me_?

"I warned them yesterday," Chris says, still looking wary. "Before you got here… Zach, look, if you're upset—"

"I'm not upset."

"I can tell when you're upset," Chris counters. "I was hoping… I wanted you to be happy about it."

"I am."

Chris sighs, pulls away and this time Zach lets him go. "I just…" He rubs at his beard, shoulders slumping. "… I didn't want you to talk me out of it."

"I wouldn't have tried to talk you out of it."

"Zach." Chris lets out a breath, smiles a little. He moves back in and this time, it's Chris' turn to rub at Zach's arm. "When we first started going out, you told me not to come out for you. That it would never work if I did."

"Is that what you're doing?" Zach asks, quietly, not wanting to hear the answer.

"No." Chris takes his face between his hands. "I'm doing it for me. I don't want you to be my dirty little secret—"

"I never thought that."

Chris kisses him, soft and apologetic; it feels like an apology. "It was time, that's all. I don't want to hide anymore."

"OK," Zach agrees. His voice feels small, and his throat is tight. He's not sure why. "If you're happy about it, so am I."

"Are _you_?" Chris pulls back, searching his face. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

"It's okay," he tries to reassure, but Chris looks incredibly unhappy. Zach's phone rings again, and he's almost relieved.

"You should get that." Chris goes back to the stove, makes a face at the cold eggs. Frowning, Zach pulls his phone from his pocket. It's his mom though, not his publicist.

"Hey, Mom," he says once he's got it up to his ear.

Chris looks over in surprise as his mom's anxious voice fills Zach's ear, "Zach, honey, is everything okay?"

"Um. Yeah, what do you mean? What's wrong?"

Chris moves over to his side, face creased in concern.

"Joe just called me. He said Chris told some magazine he's seeing someone. Joe said he came out?"

"Yeah—"

"And you told me the two of you were planning on keeping your relationship private, and so I was worried… Is Chris seeing someone else?"

Zach sighs. "No. We're still together—"

Her gusty sigh can probably be heard by Chris, who's frowning now. "I was so worried. Joe told me not to be, but well, you've always been so uncomfortable with hiding, and I thought maybe—"

"No, Mom," he says swiftly; firmly. Chris doesn't need to hear about that. "No, we're fine. We're great. We didn't mean to worry you—"

"Let me talk to her," Chris interjects, waggling his fingers at the phone, and before Zach can protest, he plucks it away. "Hi Margo," he says, turning and wandering out into the other room. "Yes, I'm fine. How are you? Good, that's good. Look, this whole thing was my fault. I didn't mean to worry you, but— What? Oh. Yeah." He's smiling, nodding. Zach's mother loves him, and Zach finds himself smiling too, trailing after to settle next to Chris on the couch.

They're chatting away, off the topic of surprise outtings, apparently. After awhile, Chris mouths at him, _Do you want to tell her?_

But Zach shakes his head, nudges Chris backward and into the cushions. He takes back the phone. "Mom?" he cuts her off mid-sentence. "We'll call you back… in a few days. We're on vacation." Honeymoon, vacation, either way.

" _Are_ you?" she asks, sounding content again. "He's so sweet, Zachary."

"I know."

"A keeper, as I keep telling you."

"I know, Mom," he says, leaning over to kiss the frowny line between Chris' eyebrows. "And look, you should come visit. Maybe next weekend?"

"Next weekend?" she echoes, right back to concerned. "But why? Is something—"

"Everything's perfect. Just thought it might be nice." He smiles at the scrunched expression Chris is giving him. "Joe wants to see you too, and we can have dinner with Chris' parents."

"Well, that does sound nice—"

"It does, doesn't it? We'll get you a ticket."

"Zach—"

"Don't argue. Right, Chris?"

He turns on the speaker phone, holding the phone up. Chris is smiling now, playing along. "You know how stubborn he is, Margo."

"Well, that's certainly true—"

"Hey," Zach protests, nudging Chris with a knee. "You two are not allowed to gang up on me."

"A keeper," Margo says, laughing. "And I'll come next weekend, if you want me."

"We do," Chris chimes in again, and he obviously means it.

Zach says goodbye, those feeling of silly happiness from last night finding their way back in. He tosses his phone onto the coffee table and snuggles Chris down into the cushions. "You're totally going to pay for that stubborn comment."

"Oh yeah?" Chris voice is gruff; Zach can feel him getting hard. "What did you have in mind?"

Zach rubs his knee slowly against Chris' crotch, smiles as his breath hitches. "I'd say a spanking, but you would enjoy it too much."

Chris laughs, breathless.

"I'll think of something," Zach promise, bending down to nip at his throat. "And I promise you won't like it at all."

Chris pulls him closer, his strangled agreement lost somewhere between their lips.

-o-

"We should get a dog," Chris says while they're making dinner—something else they do regularly. He's pressed up against Zach's back, breathing against his nape; distracting him. The best kind of distraction.

"We have a dog."

" _You_ have a dog," Chris corrects, reaching in to steal a piece of zucchini. "Don't get me wrong, I love Noah. But he's your dog."

Zach frowns at the cutting board. "Noah loves you."

"Oh, I know he does." Indulgent voice again. "And if you're around, he completely ignores me."

Zach turns around in his arms; smirks at him. "Are you jealous of Noah's love for me?"

"Yes. It's all I ever think about." Chris rolls his eyes. "Come on, what do you say? You love dogs. And we can get one from a rescue—"

"Well, we'd have to."

Chris grins. "Is that a yes?"

"We'll… consider it."

But Chris is triumphant. He grins, kisses Zach soundly and then busies himself scraping the zucchinis into the simmering pot of tomato sauce. Zach smiles, nudges him with a hip to make room at the chopping board. The phone rings, because of course it does.

It's his publicist again. For the fourth time. But Zach has done a good job of avoiding him—and everything else since breakfast. He hasn't even asked Chris what he's planning to do about Paramount yet. And so far, Chris' people haven't called with updates. Zach suspects they've been told not to.

"They'll just keep calling," Chris points out. Zach blows out a breath and fishes his phone from his pocket and answers it.

"Hello?"

"Zach. _Jesus_. Where have you been? I've been trying to call you all—"

"I know," he sighs. "We're on vacation."

"I _know_ you're on vacation," comes the exasperated reply. And his publicist is so rarely exasperated, it sets Zach on edge. "Why didn't you tell me Chris was going to do this? I've been fielding calls, and I have no idea what to tell _any_ one."

"I know. I should have called you sooner, but I'm still processing—"

"Wait. Did you not know about this?"

"Um. Well—"

His publicist's voice is hushed, full of awkwardness. "Are you two…"

"We didn't break up," Zach assures him. "And actually, that's something else we need to talk about." Chris is watching him, looking wary again. Zach smiles, hoping to reassure and settles in on one of the bar stools.

"I'm not going to like this, am I?" his publicist asks. But he's resigned, and that's for the best.

"Probably not, no. And we haven't even told our families yet, so—"

"I won't say a word to Joe."

"Thanks." Zach takes a little breath, and just says it, "We got married. Yesterday. And the justice of the peace—guy who married us—assured us it won't be public record, and so… I mean, it doesn't really matter, because we're not telling anyone…" He trails off though, wondering if they _are_ going to tell anyone. If they're going to be out—together. They haven't talked about that either.

"Okay…" His publicist sighs; deeply. "You got married. Congratulations?"

"Thanks," Zach says dryly.

"No, it's great. But if Chris is out now… are you not planning to… I mean, are you still not together as far as anyone knows?"

"We haven't decided yet." Zach tries to catch Chris' eye, but he's watching the sauce, stirring it with too much intent.

"Well, if you want my advice, and you do, right?"

"It's why I pay you," Zach agrees, still watching Chris.

"Being married will make it a lot more difficult for Paramount to oust Chris. To make any noise at all about it. It was good timing, anyway. And going away for the week, that was smart. It will give us some breathing room…"

He's still talking, but Zach isn't listening. He's staring at Chris' back, the anxiety returning full force, but this time, anger and disbelief churn with it. He drops his eyes, throat tight as he blinks at the counter.

"Zach? You there?"

"Yeah," he answers gruffly. "Look, I have to go. I'll call you tomorrow—"

"But we need to talk strategy, and—"

"Not now."

"But what do you want me to tell—"

"Nothing. Don't tell them anything. I'll talk to you later." He hangs up, and when he lifts his head, Chris is staring at him. He opens his mouth to say something, but Zach demands, "Is that what this is?"

Chris squints in confusion. "What?"

" _This_." Zach gestures to the air. "You wanted to get away because you were planning to come out. So you wanted to hide."

Chris purses his lips, with that guilty look again. "I thought it would be better—"

"You thought it would better," Zach repeats. "And you didn't think maybe you should run that by me? Ask me what _I_ wanted?"

"I didn't…" Chris shakes his head, a frown overlying the confusion. "You've always wanted this. I mean, I thought you did."

"Not like this, Chris. Not you marrying me because it will make things easier."

" _What?_ That's not—"

"You planned this whole elaborate trip—this elaborate _lie_ and it's just a coincidence that we're married now?"

" _You_ proposed."

"I know. I proposed and you just…" Zach swallows hard. "It's perfect timing, so good job there, at least. Paramount won't get to fire you."

"Zach, that's not—"

"You don't seriously expect me to believe you. You _lied_ —"

"I though you'd be happy!"

"Oh yeah, I'm really happy. I'm thrilled to be your safety net—"

"That is not what this is," Chris snaps.

"No," Zach cuts him off, standing up and sending the stool scraping across the wood; his legs are shaking. "You don't get to be mad, Chris. It wasn't me who planned a whole trip just to get us away from the fallout. That was you. You _lied_ to me, so no, you don't get to be mad."

"I'm not mad—"

"Of course you're not. What the hell do you have to be mad about? You didn't just marry someone who doesn't even want to be married."

"Zach…" Chris touches his arm, but Zach steps out of reach.

"Two years, Chris. Two years I've been hanging around, like a jerk, hoping you might actually make me a priority. Two fucking years, and then I propose. Like a fucking _idiot_ —"

His words cut out. He pivots away, his eyes burning. He makes it to the bedroom without really knowing how he got there. And when he slams the door, it rattles the pictures on the wall.

-o-

It's been hours since he stormed out of the kitchen—long enough that he's curled up in bed, in the dark. He doesn't think they've ever gone to bed like this. Not alone, not with a ball of guilt and hurt making it difficult to breathe.

He tries to tell himself he has nothing to feel guilty about. Chris is the one who lied; made up this elaborate getaway plan without even thinking about how Zach might feel about it.

It was Chris who agreed to marry him out of strategy, or pity, or why ever the fuck he did it.

He pulls the blanket tighter around his shoulders and breathes out slowly. It doesn't help.

The door opens then, the scrape of the knob jarring in the silence.

Holding his breath, Zach listens to the slow footsteps, the creak of the floorboards. Chris' shadowy outline comes into view. He's hugging his torso.

Zach doesn't say anything. He couldn't even if he wanted to.

"I know you want to be alone," Chris whispers, the words tremulous. "I'll leave you alone, I promise. But I just… I don't want you to think I said yes because I wanted to make things easier. I wasn't thinking about it. I just… I love you. So I wanted to marry you."

Neither of them speak, and Chris exhales, shaky. He turns away, but even with everything churning his stomach, Zach can't let him walk out; not like this. His arm shoots out, fingers gripping where they land on Chris' hip.

Chris makes a weird, choking noise and turns back. He's in the bed a second later, without a words, burying his face in Zach's neck. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "I'm sorry."

Zach closes his eyes, but it still hurts to inhale; even with Chris in his arms. He's down to his t-shirt and underwear, which means he was probably trying to sleep; somewhere that wasn't in bed with Zach.

And that is an unpleasant thought. He's still angry though, and his voice betrays him when he says, "You should have told me."

Chris' breath is damp against his skin, words muffled. "I didn't want you to talk me out of it."

"You still should have told me."

"I know." Chris hugs him harder, and his voice hasn't evened out. "I'm sorry. But I swear, I didn't marry you because of that."

"You weren't thinking about it at all?" Zach asks, and he tries to keeps the bitterness at bay. He really does.

"I thought you'd be happier once I told you. Like a good surprise. Because we could really be married." He presses his forehead to Zach's shoulder. "I thought you'd be happy."

Without conscious thought, Zach's arms tighten. "I was. I _am_ ," he says, setting his lips in Chris' hair. "I'm glad you did that interview."

"Are you sure?" His voice is scratchy; too close to tears. Zach swallows, presses a kiss to the top of his head.

"Of course I'm glad."

Chris doesn't relax though. He lifts his head; his lashes are wet. "Do you believe me, though? That I didn't say yes as a safety net?"

Zach nods, just once because he doesn't trust his voice.

Chris gazes at him for a long time and when he finally leans in and kisses him, it's tentative. But Zach really does believe him; knows he overreacted—at least to that. Because he knows Chris loves him. Chris is an open book; always. And Zach feels like a jerk. So, when Chris' tongue probes at the seam of his lips, he lets him in. But it's weird and clumsy, like neither of them is quite sure how to work their mouths.

It doesn't last very long. Chris pulls back to kiss carefully at his nose, either side of his lips, gently over his eyelids while breathing apologies into his skin.

"I know," Zach says, and he wishes the rough patches would smooth over. But his chest still aches. He carefully threads his fingers through Chris' hair. "I'm still mad at you."

Chris nods jerkily and dips his head so that his lips are pressing warmth over his clavicles, settling in the little hollow between them. "I know."

"But I feel like I shouldn't be," Zach says, words aimed at the ceiling. "This is your thing."

"It's not just mine. It was never just my thing."

"Which is why you should have told me."

"I know." Chris' voice is scratchy, too close to tears. Before Zach can say anything, he lifts his head; his eyes are bright. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you," he says quietly. "We don't have to do anything else. Make an announcement or anything. About us. I mean, I get it—"

" _Chris_." Zach's other hand joins the first, cupping the back of Chris' head. "That is _not_ what this is about. For god's sake, you think I don't want people to know about us? You think I'm ashamed of you?"

The tears spill over. "You think I'm ashamed of _you_."

It's like a punch in the gut, all the air rushing out of Zach's chest. Before he's really aware he's doing it, he gathers Chris up, squeezing him hard while Chris does the same. "I don't think that," he says tightly. "Fuck, I'm sorry. Don't cry."

That's another first. Of course, he's seen Chris cry. Dozens of times; but never because of something he did. And he doesn't ever want to do anything to make it happen again. He closes his eyes, feeling awful. Worse than he did before Chris came in. "That was unfair of me," he mutters. "I shouldn't have said you didn't make me a priority. That was an awful thing to say."

"It's true though."

"No, it isn't." He pulls back enough that they can see each other. "You know it's more complicated than that. With Paramount threatening you—"

"They still are."

"They are?"

Chris glances away briefly, but he nods. "They've been calling all day—me and all of my people."

Zach carefully counts to ten before he asks, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't know. I didn't want to make it worse. I knew you were upset, but you wouldn't admit you were—"

"Because how shitty would it be for me to admit I'm pissed that you didn't consult me before you came out?"

Chris scrubs a hand over his eyes. "It's not shitty. And now that you _have_ admitted it…"

Zach exhales. He brushes his thumbs beneath Chris' eyes, wiping away the tears. "I feel like a jerk," he finishes for him. "I'm sorry. I just… I had this idea, I guess. What it would be like. When you finally came out. It's stupid, I know, but I wanted to be there."

"You did?" His voice rises, and Zach really, really doesn't want him to cry again. He shifts his hands so he's cupping Chris' face.

"Please don't be upset," he mumbles, kissing his cheek; over the tear tracks. "It's okay. I wanted… I don't know, to support you, like wait in the wings and then… okay, this sounds really stupid…"

But Chris shakes his head, and hugs him. His breaths are uneven, which Zach doesn't like but he doesn't know what to say. "I'm just…" He swallows hard. "I'm proud of you, Chris."

"Yeah?" Chris warbles. Zach hugs him tighter, kisses his temple.

"I'm so proud of you."

They're quiet for a long time, but it's easier to breathe now.

"What are we going to do?" Chris asks eventually. Zach smiles, noses gently at his hair.

"We'll figure it out."

Chris nods against him.

Zach presses his face again to Chris' scalp, breathing deeply. Chris lets his breath out slowly, and then he kisses Zach's bare shoulder, follows the line toward his neck, to his jaw and finally his mouth.

They exhale together, just a soft sigh between them. There are things they need to talk about. Things they need to get settled; details, a working plan to communicate better, but for now—Chris is here, in his arms where he belongs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! A fourth part is germinating, but I'm not sure how ready I am to tackle how this affects their professional and public lives. We'll see how the muses get along. :)


	4. All In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The calm before the storm.

All in.

That’s the way they’ve decided to play it.

They were woken by the phone, bleary-eyed and unprepared, with only time here and there for decisions—none at all for real conversation. They’ve spent the morning going over strategy, talking to their lawyers, publicists, agents and avoiding all contact with the Paramount execs.

And Chris… is starting to freak out. While pretending he’s not freaking out, which makes for a stressful combination as far as Zach is concerned.

"We don’t have to do any of this," he finally says, during a lull between phone calls. Chris is pacing, but he stops as soon as the words are out. He stares at Zach for a few seconds.

"Um, do you not want to do it this way? Because—"

Zach grabs his wrist and tugs him down onto the couch. Chris grunts in surprise but otherwise offers no complaints when he’s effectively trapped under the weight of Zach’s body. “What did we decide this morning?” Zach asks, mimicking his old catholic school teachers.

Chris tries not to smile. “Um… a few things?”

"And was one of those things that I want us to be out together?"

"Yes," Chris says dutifully, but then he scrunches up his eyebrows. "And one of the things _I_ said—”

"All right, yeah," Zach agrees, dropping the persona. "You said the same thing. And I shouldn’t have brought it up again. I just don’t want you to be stressed out."

"I don’t think there’s any way around that. I just… I didn’t want to do this with strategies and ultimatums."

"I know." Zach kisses him, just a reassuring press of lips but it seems to relax some of the tension from Chris’ muscles, which he’s been carrying around since they woke up. "It’s going to be fine. And no, don’t tell me all the ways it might not be. In fact, I think we should go out. Let’s stop thinking about this for awhile."

"OK," Chris agrees, but he’s not relaxed enough. Zach butts his nose gently.

"What’s wrong?"

But Chris shakes his head. “Nothing, I—”

"Nope, not doing that again. What else did you say?" Zach queries, although he’s serious. He refuses to have another fight. "Something about communication and our lack thereof?"

Chris blows out a breath. “That’s not all me, you know. You—”

"I didn’t say it was all you."

"Because I know I fucked up, but if you had told me you were upset—"

"I _know_ , Chris.”

They glare at each other, but only for a second, until Zach realises he’s doing exactly what he doesn’t want to be doing. Chris is already deflating, his shoulders rounding. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I know you didn’t—

"No, I’m sorry—"

They fall silent together too. Zach gives a rueful smile. “Maybe we’re not doing so great with communication.”

Chris’ face falls, and Zach immediately wants to kick himself. “I didn’t mean—”

But Chris just shakes his head, presses his face to Zach’s neck. “I know. I’m just… I don’t even know.”

"It’s okay…" Zach combs upward through his hair, kisses the side of his head. "We’ll figure it out, okay? Let’s just… do something else for awhile. Anything you want."

Chris sighs. “Anything?”

"Anything. What do you want?"

"I’m too tired to think."

"A nap?" Zach asks, smiling. "I could do a nap."

"Really?"

Smiling, Zach tugs at him. “Come on.” Before he can really do more than sit up, Chris stops him; a hand on his chest.

"Zach?"

His eyes are too bright, so Zach keeps his voice soothing, rubs gently at his bicep. “Yeah?”

Chris’ thumb sweeps the bottom of his neck, and then slowly, he leans in, his fingers dipping beneath Zach’s shirt as he kisses him.

Zach pulls at him, humming in satisfaction once Chris’ ass is settled on his thighs. His hands slide under Chris’ shirt, caressing up to his shoulder blades while their mouths work slowly. Chris is sinking into him, his muscles finally relaxing. They have to pull apart so Zach can free him from his shirt, but their lips fit right back together.

Zach cradles the back of his head while Chris’ hands roam over his chest, caress his stomach, fingers brushing through the hair on the way down.

He slides his hand beneath the waistband of Zach’s shorts, over his hip and Zach squeezes lightly at Chris’ ass, silently encouraging him to lift up. It takes some maneuvering before they’re both naked, but no encouragement at all before Chris is sinking down on Zach’s dick, their foreheads pressed close.

It’s soft and slow as their bodies move together, their mouths only separating to press kisses along jaws, or over shoulders, necks. Zach’s fingers slip through the sweat at the small of Chris’ back before he taps them, a syncopated rhythm, against the base of his spine, and smiles when it makes Chris’ breath hitch.

Their mouths meet again, and Zach reaches between them to stroke Chris as slowly as Chris’ ass is working over his dick. It’s torture, sweet and hypnotic. And when they come, it’s quiet; a soft sigh between them.

The kiss is slower then, gentle as they work each other through their orgasms. Chris sighs again, presses closer, his fingers stroking over Zach’s jaw, curling around the side of his neck. “Love you,” he mumbles. "So much."

Zach breathes deeply, closes his eyes. “Love you too, Christopher…”

They kiss again, neither wanting to separate, even when the inevitable chill starts to settle in.

Chris nuzzles his jaw, pressing kisses to his stubble, running lips over his chin. “All in?” he asks quietly, but the uncertainty is gone from his voice; it’s just lethargy and affection now. Zach slides his fingers through the damp hair at his nape.

"All in," he whispers back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm doing a ficlets project over on [tumblr](pintoficlets.tumblr.com), trying to trick my muses into cooperating with the rest of this story. 100 ficlets, hopefully one a day.


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